Becoming Us
by innerurge1
Summary: This is a sequel to "His Little Girl is All Grown Up" so if you haven't read that, you are going to be pretty damned lost. So go give it a read. If you love Hameron, I promise you'll like it. Both stories are written as character studies of House and focus on how a relationship with Cameron as a partner might affect his struggles with depression and addiction. Season 7 rewrite. MA
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _This is a sequel to "His Little Girl is All Grown Up" so if you haven't read that, you are going to be pretty damned lost. So go give it a read. If you love Hameron, I promise you'll like it. It is my twist on what I wish canon would have been starting in season 6._

 _Just tack this onto the end of the ff . net URL and enjoy!_

 _/s/11585797/1/His-Little-Girl-Is-All-Grown-Up_

 _To the returning fans: I couldn't leave it alone! So I caved in and started up on the season 7 rewrite. Most of you opted for sticking to the 2nd person House POV, so that's the plan. Fair warning, I am neck deep in a completely AU story and the act of complete universe creation is rather involved so I'm finding I'm going to need more time to do this right before I start publishing chapters. Because of this, updates here will be slower, I'm going to shoot for every two weeks rather than weekly. But I find it is helpful to have this story around to clear my mind when I get stuck in my other story._

 _So here's where it's going to start getting harder to just follow along with each show. After 'fixing' season 6, watching so much Huddy in season 7 is most confusing and upsetting knowing what we know will happen. :/ - But I am still following the cases and big life events where it makes sense and the first couple of chapters will sort of follow along with 2 Selfish. But with all the Huddy it is a challenge, but I felt like we needed to tackle the first day back to work for Hameron just as much as the real show did for Huddy. And I left a ton of awful between our favorite couple and the Dean of Medicine, and I want tackle that too._

 _Another huge thanks to atavares for the beta! Here we go again!_

 _That's enough of my drabble for now. On with the damn story already!_

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 1**

Giddy.

It's really the only word you can come up with to describe the feeling in your gut as you ride into work with your fiancée for the first time. It's far too early but, since you were wide awake, you started looking forward to the looks you'll get from your team when you announce your engagement.

Twirling your new skull-handle cane, the one you passed up once before in favor of the flames, you thought back on your morning.

She had woken you up with morning sex, because she had woken up with your morning wood resting gently against her ass. There was that 'oh shit moment' five minutes in when you realized you had forgotten the condom. _Goddamn rubbers. It just isn't the same._

Pulling out, dressing up Little Greg, and continuing with the now strange barrier, felt wrong with Allison. You are almost sorry that you skipped that step, because now that you're stuck with them for a little while, after always having her as nature intended, sucks balls.

Well, that's an exaggeration. Sex with her never sucks, even with the unnatural covering. Just keep telling yourself it's only a few days. She's close to the end of her cycle, at least. You should know by Wednesday. The odds are low, but you can't help but wonder, _What if?_

"Penny for your thoughts," she asks, as she navigates the last couple of blocks to the hospital.

"I know the chances are really low, but I'd be completely okay if…"

"I doubt I am, but yeah, me too."

"I mean, that's not to say I don't think it'd be better for us to be together for a little while before we do that on purpose."

"I think we're on the same page, Greg. Just means we're revisiting that conversation a little sooner than later."

You start fiddling with the ring you now wear on your left hand. It's an odd sensation. You haven't worn a ring since your high school class ring and you lost that at some party during your freshman year of college. Well, you're pretty sure some girl you slept with took it, but hey, lost sounded better to your mother.

You never really thought about it before, but when you saw the small selection of male engagement rings, it seemed logical that you both should get to mark your territory, so to speak. And it really was a cool ring. Double banded, a silver inner ring with a small ridge separating two smaller copper band overlays, held in place by small silver rivets.

It was handmade and had a rustic look to it. The jeweler explained that it was more common in The States for men to wear an engagement ring on their left hand, but there was no hard and fast rule that it couldn't be worn on the right. But wearing it on your right hand doesn't scream 'taken' to you, so you opt to wear it on your left ring finger. Of course now one might take it for a wedding band. A non-traditional looking wedding band to be sure, but a wedding band just the same.

Allison surprised you by choosing something very simple for herself. You left the apartment with the idea you'd be buying a rock and a half like the one she receive from Chase. But she picked a simple thin silver band, with three small diamonds, all set flush into the ring. You started to protest, thinking she was worried about budget with the house closing less than a month away, but she assured you that it was a preference. She wanted something simple, something she could wear under gloves at work. Chase's ring, while beautiful, she felt was simply not 'her style' and she didn't like having to take it on and off situationally.

So you both came away with engagement rings, both of which looked a little like wedding bands.

You brought it up as you slipped them on before leaving the store and joked it would be funny to not say anything about them to your colleagues at first and see what happens. This little distraction will be way more fun than fielding questions about your dead patient and how that makes you feel. That is a topic for discussion with only Allison or Nolan. You don't even care to discuss this one with Wilson. And besides, after that little trick you pulled while answering his call, subsequently ignoring him all weekend, Allison's confirmation text of the engagement and finally your decision to get a fancy hotel room to spend the weekend celebrating sans phones, will point straight to elopement in the mind of your overly romantic best friend.

The look on his face alone is incentive to come to work early all by itself. Combine his reaction with the reaction you're likely to get from Cuddy and you are all fucking in. Seeing her reaction is a big reason in favor of not quitting PPTH and letting the bitch deal with the fall of her prized diagnostics department.

God, how could you have ever thought _that_ would work?

Allison pulls into the garage and parks in your spot, lack of handicap plates be damned. It has your name on it and you rode here in this car. You'll rip out some retinas later if they ticket her before you can add her plate number to your list with H.R. Which reminds you, you should talk to someone about getting one of those mirror hangers that you can move it car to car, so you don't have to worry about this shit when you take her car. Because it is the nicer car and you do drive it more often when you are together.

As you enter the building, you take her hand in yours and walk her to her office. The looks and whispers abound as you yet again confirm the rumors of your romance which have been flying since late last week. You hear at least one "Is she wearing a wedding ring?" as you pass the main lobby nurses station, and neither of you breaks your straight faces as you continue on toward the E.R.

Upon reaching her office, you stop and turn to her. Leaning down you place your left hand on her cheek, very purposely showing off your ring, tilt up her chin and kiss her with just a little tongue, before winking, and wandering off back to the elevators. Fun mental games with your team and, of course, Wilson, await a few floors away.

Entering your office first, you toss your bookbag on your desk chair and saunter (as much as a man with a cane can) into the diagnostic room to fetch a cup of coffee. Much to your pleasure, Wilson elected to join your team this morning, and is currently reading over a file with them. Pouring a cup, you wander to the head of the table and take your seat. Rocking ideally in the chair, you slowly sip the hot brew while purposely holding the cup with both hands. You peer over the edge of the cup at your team , waiting for them to look up from the files they are studying.

Cuddy must have dropped off a case.

Now the question is, did Wilson say anything to the group? No. They'd be watching you and waiting if he had. Wilson is doing his best not to draw attention to you, which means he really, really wants the juicy details. He's always overly private with you when he thinks he has the good dirt. Finally he looks up at you, and three, two, one…

Oh yes, the eyes. That wide open deer in headlights look. You smirk at him, place the coffee on the table, grab your cane left handed, toss it up to grab it by the bottom, use the skull handle to knock the file from Wilson's hands, and pull it to you. "You don't need that."

Taub and the rest look up from their files finally and focus on your cane. Taub asks "So, what's with the death's head cane?"

"They didn't have a death's ass cane," you reply as you pick up the file. "So Junior Miss everything — skateboarder, basketballer, science clubber, seal clubber" pausing for dramatic effect before continuing "I'm actually guessing with that last one. Healthy one day, heart arrhythmia the next."

"You didn't?" Foreman asks.

Finally! Now the fun really begins.

"That depends. I _didn't_ have sex with Wilson? Well, we all know that is debatable. I hear the real bet is centered around not whether or not we did the deed, but in who's packing the fudge and whose fudge is being packed. So maybe it's I _didn't_ take Wilson's man-meat deep in my…"

"You're wearing a wedding ring." Foreman interrupts before you can finish. So you wink at Wilson, to get your last little jab in with your friend, who is still sitting there looking dumbfounded.

"God! I knew it. You guys did alope! Damnit House, I would have liked to have been a part of it. You were my best man at my last two weddings." Poor Wilson. He should really know you better than that. You'd never leave him out of your wedding, provided you were sober. And he should know that Allison wouldn't allow a drunk wedding with you at this point nor would she even consider leaving out your best friend. Probably his own guilt over not looking out for you the past couple months.

"And look where that got you. Maybe we thought it would be a bad omen to continue the practice. Or maybe we just did it on a whim and were so distracted with the getting to the naked part that you weren't really on our minds."

Chase pipes in, "EKG, echo and head CT are all spotless. There's nothing on her neurological exam." _Well, now that is surprising. Good for him. Fucking right, kid._ You half-expected him to storm out after the whole shock of the house purchase, but looks like he decided to move on and not give you the satisfaction.

Taub ignores Chase's attempt to move the conversation back on track."You're seriously married? To Cameron? Well that explains the sour look on Cuddy's face this morning."

"Well, I doubt that Cuddy knows anything about my marital status. She has other issues up her double-wide."

Wilson sighs and stands, "I'm going back to my office," and exits the room. You're going to need to let him off the hook sooner than later. Maybe he'll play along too, once you do.

"So, uh, I feel like we are missing the female perspective, or Thirteen's, on all of this talk of nuptials. Where is she?"

Taub answers, "She's gone." Followed by Foreman, "She said she was taking a leave of absence." He passes you an opened envelope with your name on it. Pulling out the letter, you look it over as Foreman continues. "Wanted us to think it was for a Huntington's study in Rome. They've never heard of her."

"Cell and home phone are disconnected. Apartment's already been vacated." Taub adds.

Well, that's interesting, to say the least. But, for some reason it doesn't surprise you, and you are strangely okay with it. Sometimes, people need to be able to go work out their shit. Doesn't mean you aren't going to look into where the hell she is. But you'll figure that out later. You have lots of fun things in your own life to deal with right this moment. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait." Tossing the letter to the table, you decide it's time to work. "Conditions that cause intermittent heart arrhythmias."

"Three years, you've been trying to game out Thirteen. Now you don't care?" Foreman asks in disbelief.

"Sorry. Not caring about Thirteen is not part of the differential for heart arrhythmia, but you do get a home version of the game."

Good old Chase, still all business, continues the differential. Now you kind of feel bad, not bad enough, to do anything differently, of course, but poor guy's going to have to deal with it twice. Oh well, sometimes it's better to have a dress rehearsal. "Patient's brother has severe, congenital muscular dystrophy. Life expectancy of about 25. If she's had a latent case of it…"

"Wouldn't be sudden onset. Foreman!" You interrupt his stab at a diagnosis.

Foreman takes it back to your missing team member, "Do you know something about Thirteen that we don't?" Now, that is an even better reason to keep not caring. It's fucking them up as much as the thought that you are married. Today is going to be a great work day!

"She's entitled to her privacy. Just as I'm entitled to a diagnosis."

Taub practically laughs in your face on that one. "And you're glossing over Thirteen's departure because you actually respect somebody's privacy?"

Now you are kind of getting over this. You do have a patient after all and there is a nice long day ahead of you in which you'd like to stretch out your little side game. With an added bit of spite you bite out, "I agree. It's weird of me not to care. So either I'm a changed man because of Allison, or I'm pretending to be a changed man because I do know something about Thirteen and I'm trying to throw you off the scent, or I've just gone nutty bananas because I lost a patient. All of which you are free to discuss— _after_ I get a _diagnosis_!"

"If it's Long QT Syndrome, any startling stimulus in that skate park could have triggered the arrhythmia. Loud noise, flashing lights." You might have to clue Chase in. He's got balls of steel today. Well, there is one way to figure out if the guy is right.

"Scare the patient to death to confirm Long QT." Everyone looks at you as if you are crazy. It's so cool. "Fine. If you insist, do it in a room with one of those thingamabobs that brings people back to life."

Your team scurries off to run your test and you head to Wilson's office and let yourself in. He looks up at you and you tell him. "We're not married. Yet, anyway. We did get engaged and this," you hold up your left hand and run your thumb over the ring, "is an engagement ring. All the cool guys are wearing them these days."

Looking up at you, his mouth forms an _oh_ , and you continue sincerely. "C'mon, you can't believe I'd really leave you out of my wedding? You're my best friend."

He nods. Slowly a smile works its way across his face. Good. He's not mad. "Damn. She's really got you by the balls if you're wearing an engagement ring."

* * *

No sooner than you settle into your desk chair to deal with your email, _maybe now that we're engaged Allison will do it for me again_ , your team barges into the office.

"Well, thanks to Foreman, we've been banned from doing the scare test. You need to go hash this out with Cuddy." Taub is pissed. You're pissed. But it _is_ an excuse to show off the new ring, after all. Unlike Cuddy, you have no insecurities about flaunting your engagement ring off at work.

Standing, you move past your team without a word and limp-sprint to the elevator ready to go to war. _What a two faced cunt. She tells me I should stay out of other people's relationships, then she butts herself in on mine. Allison was right. She thinks she's somehow entitled when it comes to me._

Moments later you storm into her office. "What the hell do you think you're doing calling off a procedure I ordered without even consulting me first?!"

Looking up, she gives you her long practiced cold stare. Obviously, she knew you'd be coming and was fully prepared for your wrath. _Well fucking bring it bitch._ You think, as you place both hands down on her desk and lean in, ready for the fight.

She simply looks you in the eye for a moment "I think I'm protecting a patient from an unnecessarily dangerous procedure, and this hospital from another lawsuit. So basically, my job. What the hell do you think you're doing ordering a procedure like that without running it by me first? I'm pretty sure, at this stage in the game, you understand how this works."

Still perfectly calm she lowers her eyes back to her work, but on the way down, they stop short, staring at your left hand.

Then it happens.

The look of hurt. _Dammit._ You can take anger, confusion, disbelief even, but as her eyes find yours again, all you see is hurt. _Well, she hurt you. Isn't it only fair?_ Except that's not how it works and you know it. You can't just cut out the part of you that cared for her and toss it away in a few days. She doesn't even seem shocked.

"So it's true, you got married." It's a statement, not a question. "I guess congratulations are in order. Make sure the two of you get the ball rolling on the paperwork with H.R. before you leave today." You're not sure what you should do now, so you remain silent. This was the one reaction you weren't prepared for. "I heard about Hanna. I'm really sorry, House. I'm glad you had someone besides Wilson to help you deal with that."

You nod, standing upright, deflated from her comments and far less interested in playing games. "Thanks. And we're not married. We got engaged and I wanted a ring. Everyone just assumed it was a wedding ring; it was funny, so I let them. So, no need to fill out that mountain of paperwork just yet." You smile, hoping to break the thick tension in the room. "And you can relax a little while longer before you have two Dr. Houses to deal with."

"Either way. I think it's a good thing, House. Last Thursday, I said a lot of things… after I stepped back I realised I had no right to say any of it. Obviously you and I had something, but neither of us ever seemed to be on the same page and honestly, we both know it would be volatile. Lucas is really good for me. Cameron is really good for you. Maybe, if we try really hard, we can be good for them too."

Okay then. Wow.

"So, I can move forward with the scare test?" You jump back on topic and try to slip in a win, with a soft voice and serious expression, because there isn't much more of this mushy stuff that you can handle. The purpose of your visit hadn't been resolution. Quite the opposite, but you'll take it.

"Not on your life. Figure something else out," she replies and returns to her paperwork.

With a raised eyebrow, you juggle air between your cheeks and decide that maybe it's worth it to drop this one in favor of getting your work life back to normal. The other test is almost as effective. Conceding, you turn, exit the office and head upstairs to deliver the news to your team.

As you walk in the conference room, all eyes are on you. "Scare test was not approved. Do an angio and E.P. study instead."

"But that's not nearly as effective," Taub chimes in with the obvious and you simply shoot him a look and order him to go.

Heading back to your office, you sit and swivel around to face your computer once more, in hopes that you'll open your in-box to find it empty. _Yeah, right._ Well, at least you can read the NSFW ones first to get you in a better mood.

It doesn't take long for your team to come back. Far less time than it should have taken. Foreman explains the situation to you and hands you the updated file. Your patient isn't urinating and given the copious amounts of fluids she's been given, she should be clamoring for a bathroom break.

"So what could cause her heart to stop and her urine not to drop?" you wonder out loud.

Taub still isn't over not getting to do the scare test for some reason and starts badgering you rather than concentrating on moving forward with the case. "I am kind of concerned this marriage thing might be affecting your work, you let Cuddy get the upperhand. Normally you'd simply tell her she's being an idiot, she'd cave and then you'd come back and we'd do the test anyway."

"Are you implying that being with Cameron is making me... _nice_? How about this for a better answer: I find I can skip the idiot part when Cuddy's not being an idiot, and since the scare test would have led to the same dead end, she was right to stop it. Which means your problem's about you."

"This should be interesting," Taub smirks.

"Losers love company. And if even a misanthrope like me has a chance at a happy marriage, it's gonna be pretty lonely on that landfill of loserdom you call a marriage." You planned on correcting their false assumption, but fuck it. If he's going to be an ass, he needs to remember he's dealing with a far bigger one in you.

"Heart, kidneys, go." Time to get back on track.

Foreman is with you. "Could be Fabry disease. Lipid deposition in her tissues." As is Chase, "Dad's history was clean."

Foreman continues, "What about protein deposits? They wouldn't show in her parents' history." But no, you don't think that is. It might be, "Amyloidosis. Explains both the symptoms. Marrow transplant to treat. Brother's a match," you see from the file which you then snap shut and toss towards Taub. "Confirm and do."

* * *

A pretty funny couple of really old dudes come into the clinic today. Turns out one was the father of the other. He should totally be dead, but instead he's hanging out in your clinic room looking for things to explain the symptoms of old age, besides old age.

 _At least he didn't have crotch rot._ You shudder at the thought.

As you get ready to sign out of the clinic, Taub approaches to inform you the patient refuses to take her cripple brother's marrow. _Fucking brilliant!_ Now the team has to find a new donor. In the meantime you need to eat. _Maybe Allison would like to grab lunch._

Signing out of the clinic you wander to the E.R. to find Allison.

As you approach the station, you see Rebecca and nod. "Hey," she greets you. "You look about a million times better than last time I saw you here."

"Yet, strangely, I have the same question," you quip as you lean over the station to ritually steal a sucker from the jar.

"She's in her office. And you two are causing quite the uproar in the rumor mill with those rings." You smile and rip the wrapper off placing the candy in your mouth. She looks at your ring as you do.

"I like yours, by the way. It's very rustic and masculine. I bought Tyler a watch for our engagement. I still kinda wish he would have let me pick something other than a ring, or at least had me pick the ring myself. I mean, the surprise, down on one knee thing is fun, but he's paid the price ever since for getting a high and pointy setting. It's a pretty thing, but he has serious wounds from the damn thing accidentally scratching him. You're lucky Cameron wanted the flush settings."

"I never considered the irony of an engagement ring being wielded as a weapon against the giver. I guess this is another win in the Allison Cameron column, although I think she had me at not willing to live in a place without a soaker tub."

With that you wink and meander off to Allison's office.

The door is open, so you walk straight in, without preamble, and take a seat before her desk, thinking all the while about the time you sat here with your head buried between her lovely long legs.

Looking up finally, she smiles. "Hey you. I'm pretty sure we're breaking a record of some kind in the office betting pool. How are the guys? Do they think we got hitched?"

"Yeah. It wasn't even a challenge. So much so, I caved and told Wilson the truth, so he didn't cry over not being invited. I won't be butt-fucked by a man who cries. I do have a standard to uphold."

"Poor Wilson. We were kinda mean over the weekend. But I would have paid good money to have seen the look on his face when you answered the phone."

That makes you smile. It was rather epic improvisation on your part.

"So, I also told Cuddy. I went into her office ready to fight over my patient and instead she apologized for everything she said last week. Told me that we're both with people who are good for us and that she thinks we both should work hard not to fuck that up. I was so shocked, I let her overrule my procedure. So, either she just got a hundred times better at the game or the storm has passed and we all can get back to normal."

"Well, that's good news. But it will be better news once she tells me the same thing. I'm not a fan of second hand apologies." Duly noted to the boyfriend, strike that, fiancé brain.

Enough of that topic though, you came here to have fun, not agitate. "So how long should we let the rumor play out? I'm good letting them be confused months from now by the invitations to the real thing." You say with a straight face, and in truth you'd rather enjoy seeing if the deception could make it that long without a direct lie from either of you.

Smirking at you and shaking her head, as if to say 'why am I not surprised,' she lets herself imagine that scenario for a few seconds before letting out a small grunt of a laugh. "Now that is funny, but we should tell people if they ask us outright and the news will travel quickly enough from there. The really interesting part will be seeing how long it takes for someone to be that direct. Everyone here is so gossipy. I think they'd rather make the shit up than know for real."

Smirking back you give her a quick nod of agreement before asking, "Wanna grab lunch?"

"Yep. Just let me finish this first." She looks back down to her chart, starts scribbling away and your pager goes off. Glancing down you see lunch will have to wait.

"Raincheck," you tell her as you get up and head out of her office and up to find out what has gone wrong with your patient this time.

* * *

Standing in the observation deck you overlook your team as they prep the patient for surgery. Cuddy, having received your page, walks in to join you.

"She's bleeding to death. Out of her lung. I want to fill a quarter of it with foam," you explain, still looking into the theater.

"That'd stop the bleeding, all right," she answers.

"Thought it made more sense than diet and exercise," you answer back, with less venom than usual.

"And if she doesn't have enough lung function left, you'll have killed her," she answers equally calmly. Neither of you eager to destroy the equilibrium you gained back this morning.

"The only alternative is slowly suturing the lung, hoping that the bleeding stops in time and she doesn't die on her own. But we would walk away with clean hands." You let your sarcasm return. "Except for all the blood."

Finally glancing to her, you see her fighting an inner battle. After a few seconds of silence she concedes. "You're right. Faster and riskier's better. Foam the lung." Then she turns and walks away to leave you to your work. That was way too easy. But no matter. You have a job to do; Cuddy and you are second to that. Things will blow over completely in time and you'll be back to smart assed comments and fun arguments that help keep you grounded.

But that's just it. She caved way too easily. She also did the thing with her head. _Dammit. Who cares? Do the foam; it's the right call._

Chase, seeing that Cuddy departed, intercoms up "Got a green light?"

"Yeah. Foam the lung."

* * *

By the end of the day the girl was stable again, but you still haven't solved the case. The last consensus was Goodpasture's and you sent your team off to investigate, packed your backpack and headed back to the E.R. to see if Allison was ready to leave. You had not thought about her long ass shifts when you had chosen to drive with her today, but it worked out anyway, thanks to a hectic day with the patient. In fact, you left the rest of the team to work into the night testing for Goodpasture's.

As luck would have it, Allison has already showered, changed and is packing her things as you walk into her office. "Wanna cash that raincheck now and go out for dinner?"

"Yeah," she nods as she swings her computer bag over her shoulder and grabs her light jacket. "How's Della?"

"And Della would be?" you ask, fairly sure that might be the name of your patient, but after last time, you are even more determined to maintain your distance and therefore your sanity.

Cocking her head to the side, she gives you the cutest frustrated Cameron look. "How is it I know your patient's name, and you don't?"

Rolling your eyes, you give back the 'duh' look and spell out for her what she already knows. "She came through the E.R. yesterday. You do the paperwork and you read that top section that has all of the irrelevant information like name. I like to skip ahead to the good bits, like what's killing her."

She smirks at you and you both start walking towards the door. Once out into the hall, you take her hand and give her the summary. The topic shifts to where to have dinner as you come to the front doors, but before you can exit you hear, "Dr. Cameron. Could I have a word with you in my office?"

Allison raises an eyebrow at you upon hearing Cuddy's request and lets go of your hand. "I'll wait outside. Page me if she turns into a dragon or something like that. I'll limp in and beat her with my cane," you tell her, fully aware that Cuddy can hear you. The sooner you get back to being you, the faster this wound will heal.

Rolling her eyes at you, she turns and heads towards Cuddy's office, following your boss in. You no longer have any desire to be a fly on that wall knowing that Allison is more than capable of dealing with Cuddy in any form. She can kill her with kindness or cut her down to size in an argument. If the subject weren't your love life, you'd be extremely turned on. But it is, so you wander outside and stare up at the passing clouds, waiting for your lover to return to you, so you can get on with your evening.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _Thanks again for the beta work atavares! Hopefully I'll get to play more soon. :)_

* * *

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 2**

Allison was gone for awhile. At least long enough for the son of your old ass clinic patient to find you and harass you. He offered you $20 to tell his father that he should be in a nursing home. You coaxed another $20 from him before consenting to help. So funny what people choose to lie over to save hurt feelings.

He was gone by the time she finally joined you again. Glancing down at your watch, it was about a 15 minute meeting. When she reaches you, you mock checking her for injuries and she rolls her eyes as you ask her a few standard trauma questions.

"You know, you're pretty good at that. Maybe I'll talk to Cuddy about getting you transferred to the E.R."

"Speaking of the wicked witch, what the hell took so long? I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to start searching for a body."

"Well, she apologized." Taking your hand, she starts walking toward through the courtyard to the building you are parked under. "Then she asked me about my career goals."

"Interesting topic to segway to a performance review," you muse aloud.

"Dr. Ross gave his notice that he's retiring. It will leave both the Director of Immunology and a hospital board position open. Back when I agreed to do the E.R. position, Cuddy promised me first consideration on any leadership positions in Immunology, provided my leadership position in the E.R. went well. Ross's position will go to Miller, which will leave the Associate Director position open. Since my tenure in the E.R., the wait times on my shifts are down, the paperwork gets filed on time and there is less readmittance due to improper diagnosis. She also thought I did a good job subbing for her, despite the trouble I had with that asshole Dr. House."

Reaching the door, she opens it and heads straight to the elevators.

"He's well known for being a cock-sucker. Just ask Dr. Wilson," you jest back to her, hitting the down button with your cane once you reach the doors.

"Anyway, Ross is retiring at the start of the new school year, so basically three months. She gave me a week to think about it before she opens a full search on the position."

The ding comes and the doors open, and you break your hand hold as you walk in and turn back to face the doors. As they close you continue, "And the board seat?"

Cocking her head to the side, still looking forward, "That was a surprise. Miller doesn't want it, but the rest of the board thinks it makes sense to keep it with someone from the Immunology Department to keep things balanced, so she she says she'll push for it to be me if I want it. The board would have to vote on it. But she seemed to think it wouldn't be a big issue. At least if we do it before the news of our engagement travels that high up the food chain. Apparently, there is a 'no Dr. House' rule. So best I get in before I become one."

Your eyes roll involuntarily at the the idea they would hold your relationship with Allison against her. You are definitely not the guy one sleeps with to get ahead in one's career. "She would find a way to limit our PDA at the hospital."

The elevator rings again, and the doors open to the level you parked on. You both exit toward Allison's car as she hits the unlock button on her fob. She opens the back door to toss in her bag, then gets behind the wheel as you get in on the passenger side, toss your bag in the floor in front of you and buckle up.

"Apparently this has all been in the works for a few weeks, she had to iron out some details before she extended the offer. Our news threw her a curve on a personal level, but now that she's calmed down, she isn't going to torpedo me professionally. Which is good to know. I honestly wasn't sure.

"I told her that I'm not going to hide our relationship. So the board either knows and takes me on based on my professional accomplishments, or they don't and hold our relationship against me. So at least I'll know I'm working with levelheaded people or getting to avoid working with over-assuming assholes. Either way, I wouldn't be able to vote on things concerning you because of the conflict of interest. So if they kept me out just because of you, it would be a real dick move." She starts the car. Putting it in reverses, she checks her mirrors and pulls out.

"Are you going to accept?"

"I'm not sure. Three years ago I would have in a heartbeat. Now, I dunno. E.R. has really fit well for me and Mathews is a couple of years from retiring, so there is still a path up. For the time being, I'd still be practicing medicine, not just pencil pushing. But, I really enjoyed my short stint as dean, apart from dealing with you. So part of me thinks I could be happy and do well as an administrator. I'd still get to work on the tough cases, do consults and I'd get to teach a couple of classes, which I've always wanted to do. So it's just a question of 'do I want the devil I know' or 'do I take the risk on the devil I don't know'."

"Or come back and work for me. I promise to sexually harass you daily and all performance bonuses would be in the form of oral sex."

"Damn. You drive a hard bargain." She laughs as she pulls out from the garage onto the road, knowing you aren't really serious. That is the last thing your finally stable relationship needs.

"Oh, believe me, it's extremely hard."

* * *

You're in your favorite place when the phone rings. Ignoring it, you continue to flick Allison's clit with your tongue, holding her hips down as she writhes against you. She has a death grip on your hair and pushes your head harder against her, once again cutting off your air supply. This is the selfish side of Allison—the side only you get to see now—a few licks, a nibble and a suck away from falling over the edge of another orgasim.

Little Greg is throbbing with need, precum coating the sheets under you, while you lick a very similar fluid from her swollen labia. Finally the ringing stops, and you suck in her clit and fuck it with your lips, flicking your tongue over it each time you pull it in.

"Ohhhhhh, fucking god, Greg! Suck me baby… I love you so much!" She screams for you and comes on your mouth, pulling your hair more and wrapping her legs around your head and, if you do die, you are completely ok with going out this way. Fuck, it's a turn on.

Pulling back as best you can, you tell her "As much as I would love to be able to live exclusively off your pussy juice, unfortunately I need oxygen as well."

Taking a deep breath, she sighs and answers you cheekily, "I'll steal an oxygen tank next time I'm at work. You can just put the nasal cannula on and dive in." She releases you from the leg prison, allowing you to slide up her body and plunge your cock into her, kissing her as you do.

Her kisses are always greedy when your mouth is covered in her come. Again, a serious turn on. As you set a slow and steady rhythm, you consider her statement. A grin inches its way across your lips as you continue to kiss her lightly, working your way toward her left ear. "Actually, that is a really great idea. I'd probably get a great little boost from the oxygen too. Imagine how thoroughly my mouth can fuck you if I never have to break for air."

Kissing down her neck, biting her pulse point causes her to arch against you and you push into her as deeply as you can, holding for a moment before fucking her with a series of fast thrusts. You are so close and you pick up the pace nearing your peak when you remember.

Sitting up quickly and pulling out, you grab your cock and finish yourself, spraying her stomach with with strands of your jiz. You had both gotten carried away, again—forgotten the condom—but damn if it isn't beautiful to spray yourself all over her, watch her rub it in and lick your come from her fingers.

"Fuck, Allison," you growl as you pull her fingers from her mouth and take it again with your own. You love to taste yourself on her as much as she loves to taste herself on you. Sex at its best is messy and dirty, wet and sticky, and you both enjoy making the other as dirty as possible. Needing air once more you roll off of her and mentally kick yourself for forgetting yet again. You're not used to having to think when you fuck her. It sucks. It's so much better when you can just lose yourself inside her.

"I'm sorry. I forgot again."

"Hey, there are two of us, remember. Besides, you aren't the one who forgot their pill." She says as she cuddles against you, smearing come all over your side. "At least you remembered to pull out. I wasn't even thinking at that point."

"Well, five orgasms will do that to a woman," you brag and kiss the top of her head.

Then you remember, someone was calling you. Probably your team about the case. "Hand me the phone? I need to see what those idiots who work for me need this time. I'm not sure they're worth much without Thirteen there to babysit."

"So, I heard about that. Any idea where she is?" Allison asks as she rolls over toward the nightstand to grab your phone and pass it back to you.

"Nope. No idea," you answer, taking the phone and looking at your call list. Yep, your team.

"You gonna go after her?" she asks as she gets out of bed, and heads towards the door.

"No. I think I'm going to try something new—respect her wishes and let her go." Allison turns to you and leans on the door frame. Her naked, sweaty and come covered body shining and tempting you for round two, even though you are pretty sure that after the weekend and today, Little Greg doesn't have much more in him. Still, she is so delicious.

Smirking at your eyes roaming over her, she crosses her arms. "But you're still calling Lucas to spy on her?"

She knows you well. In every sense of the word, especially the biblical. And god, you still want to pray at her alter more. "Well, duh. I'm not that reformed."

With that she shakes her head and heads to the shower and leaves you to your call.

* * *

Turns out your patent has LAM, which means a lung transplant, which she is going to need anyway because her lung is so fried. After your team called to inform you, they were able to get everything setup and found a match on the donor registry. By the time you got into work, she had made it through surgery and now was in recovery.

With nothing to do, you played video games most the morning, then did an hour of clinic duty. Maybe you could slip that $40 you got yesterday to a janitor and get him to run interference on a storage closet so you can have a little pre-lunch-quicky with Allison. If you're lucky and she does get her period, today is going to be your last day of fun until Sunday. Best to use your time wisely.

Devising a plan, you text her. 'You free for lunch?'

'Should be in 10, but it is the ER :/'

'My office when u r done'

'k luv u'

':p{'

'wtf is that?'

'Me licking ur pussy'

'lol :p«===B'

':o ~~«===B ?'

'Nope, but (o)(o) ~~«===B is totally on the table'

'What table and when?'

'I have to finish up here. I'll see you in 10'

'Don't finish without me :'('

You give her a second to continue the banter, and when she doesn't, you put your phone away, wandering out into the hallway to find the janitor. It doesn't take long, thankfully. You slip him the $40 to block off the hallway next to the storage closet for 'cleaning' and he agrees to run interference for you, before congratulating you on your marriage and giving you a slap on the back for landing "one hot piece of ass."

Couldn't disagree with him there.

"You guys enjoy the honeymoon and leave the rest to me," the janitor said, turning away from you to begin the process of blocking the hallway.

"Thanks," you nod. You head back to your office with a couple of minutes to spare and lay on the lounge chair, closing your eyes and thinking about how you want to take her, and make her forget any time she had been in that room with Chase. Dumb ass kid should have thought to bribe the janitor that time and maybe they wouldn't have had you catch them in the act. God, the look on Chase's face _was_ priceless and, all things considered, you are now glad you didn't catch them in the middle of the act.

Pushing thoughts of Chase and Cameron out of your mind, you focus back in on you and Allison. Stripping her. Slipping into her. Making her bite your hand to keep from screaming.

Just then, you hear the door and a moment later, you feel the weight of someone on your lap. Opening your eyes you are greeted with your woman straddling you as she leans forward with a kiss.

 _To hell with the windows, we can just fuck here. Put on a show for the kiddies._

Now, now. Bad House. You have a plan that better avoids getting fired, best to stick to it.

"Mmm. As much as I've always wanted to work in porn, live hospital peep shows aren't really what I had in mind." Thrusting up once for good measure, you push her up and off of you, swinging your legs to the side in order to stand up. You take her hand in your left and your cane in your right and lead her into the hallway.

"Um, the cafeteria is the other way." She lightly protests, not surprised at all at the direction.

"What I want to eat is not on the menu there. And even if it was, those ladies are just… ew." You shudder at the thought.

Turning the corner, you see your accomplice and give him a wink as you head straight for the storage closet. He places the wet floor signs at either end of the hall and rolls his mop bucket to the middle as you pull Allison in the room, close and lock the door behind you.

"Did you pay off the janitor to run interference for a nooner?" Impressed with you, she pushes off your suit jacket.

"Obviously, your moral compass is a little unsure of north when it comes to sex in the workplace. I'm shocked and appalled that you'd go along with this sort of amoral behavior, Dr. Cameron," you jest back as you take off your t-shirt. She lifts her undershirt and scrubs top off together and reaches behind her to unfasten her bra.

"Even the most moral people have skeletons in their closet. Just so happens this is mine. I like getting fucked at work, Dr. House."

"Well, good thing for you I like playing with your skeleton."

Both of you kick off your shoes, drop your pants and underwear, then she jumps up on the table you had caught her on with Chase. Time to make a better memory.

Stepping between her legs, already hard, you kiss her as one hand slips between and lightly brushes her dampened mound, coaxing it, which elicits a soft moan from her as her hands find your chest and tease your nipples. "Condom," she breathes out just before she kisses you again, her tongue requesting to tango with yours, one hand slides up to your neck and the other down to encircle your hardened prick.

Reluctantly you break away, grab your cane and use it to hook your jeans. Lifting them up, you reach in your pocket and pull out the strip of three condoms. _Best to always be prepared,_ says your inner boy scout as you rip one of the foils open and pull out the contents. As you step back between her legs she holds out her hand, you place the condom in it, and she rolls it on you slowly as you claim her lips again.

A second later she is guiding you inside of her and you lean forward, both fists on the edge of the table to carry your weight so your good leg has the leverage it needs to do its work. Her legs wrap around your back and cross over your ass, rock with your movements, encouraging short deep thrusts, which she accentuates with a circular gyration of her hips.

She leaves her right hand between you, rubbing her clit quickly side to side, up and down as you fuck her. Her other finds your neck again and pulls against you, kissing you with greater force. She then grabs your hair and pulls your head back, to expose your neck to her hungry mouth, to nibble and suck on the sensitive flesh around your adam's apple, working her way down to where your clavicles meet.

Letting loose of your hair, she pulls your head to her again and whispers in your ear "Fuck me harder, House." That drives you crazy and you ride her faster. Just as you are on the edge, she bites your shoulder and shakes forcefully with her own climax, sending you over a moment later and you return the favor biting into her shoulder to quite the howl threatening to escape your throat.

She holds you tightly to her as you put even more weight on your arms, your breaths coming hard in unison. Kissing back up her neck, you stop to nip at her ear and tell her, "It feels so dirty now when you call me House… It's fucking hot."

"You'll always be House to me here. I've wanted to have you in this room, on this table, since about two weeks into my fellowship."

"Well, if you ever want to really role play that, you're going to need to go brunette again. My mind has reprogrammed itself in a way that blonde you is Allison, _my Allison_ , and brunette you is Cameron, my former employee and hot lobby art. I know it's kind of weird, but somehow my subconscious has drawn that line."

"Your dirty brain just likes to use that as an excuse for me to make out with myself."

"That's so true." You raise your eyebrows, nodding with a shit-eating grin.

"Come on, dirty boy, let's get cleaned up and get lunch. I'm starving." Standing up straight, your softening penis falls out of her and you remember the one really nice thing about condoms. They do make for super easy cleanup after work sex.

* * *

"So we should make a list of pros and cons," she suggests just before she takes a fork full of salad in her mouth.

"Pro: You can dress in sexy outfits rather than scrubs," you suggest as you eat a fry.

"Pro: I get to work normal hours again. So we can ride together and save on gas."

"Con: We'll have less alone time at home if we work the same hours. It's kind of nice to have a day or so each week to yourself, when you're used to being alone."

"Yeah, that is nice. But we can work that out on our own. It just means we have to plan some. Pro: Less drunk or drugged armed people deciding to try to stab me while I treat them."

"Pro: Immunology is a million times more interesting than emergency medicine. Con: You won't be around to find me the best cases from those odd times that the E.R. isn't boring."

"But I'm sure I'll have good cases come through Immunology. There are plenty of people misdiagnosed and sent to the wrong specialty. Pro: I can consult with your team more often."

"Hmm, if by consult, you mean invite me to your new nicer office for sexual favors, then I think we're at a con, because of the windows. I've kinda gotten attached to your little dungeon of an office and its convenient lack of windows."

"Well, I will be making a considerable amount more money, so we can afford to pass a little of that on to the janitorial staff."

"Always thinking of the little guy."

"Um, I'm always thinking about _your_ little guy."

"Pro: Tenure tracked position. So even if we get caught in a compromising position, it will be nearly impossible to get fired."

"Con: Miller is only 40 and pretty content at PPTH as far as I can tell, so it might be a while before there is a chance to move up again in Immunology, at least at this hospital. Whereas I am in a good spot to be considered for the E.R. director position in three or four years when Mathews retires."

"You'll still be in a good position for that. It's not like you are going to forget how the E.R. works in the meantime."

"In theory. But three years is plenty of time for someone else to come in, kick ass and become the natural fit. I did it in that amount time; someone else can too."

"The real question is simple: What do you like doing the most? It's a total first world problem. You have plenty of money either way. So take advantage of your privilege and just do the job you think will be the most fun."

Your pager buzzes in your pocket. Pulling it out you sigh, "Gotta go."

* * *

Back in the conference room, your team gathers around the table to inform you of the situation. Foreman begins, "Surgery was uneventful, but the donated lung started failing about an hour into recovery."

"We know we're right about LAM. Tests confirmed it," Taub adds.

 _Damn._ "That leaves us with two options. Body's rejecting the new lung or we should have rejected the new lung because it's infected," you tell them, fully aware they already know.

Chase suggests biopsy, but Taub rightfully counters there is no way of insuring getting a sample from the affected area. Foreman's plan, though the most risky, is by far the most effective. "If we give steroids for rejection, it'd make an infection worse. If we give antibiotics for infection, it'd make rejection worse."

"Which worse is worse?" You pose and Chase answers "If we treat for infection and we're wrong, she'll be dead within hours."

"And if we treat for rejection and we're wrong?" you ask, just to fully vet the counter argument for the team. This time Taub jumps in. "She'll probably hang on a day or two."

Foreman, counters "You're assuming her rejection's hyperacute. Odds are, it isn't."

But unfortunately the patient has no time for the four of you to debate. "Gotta head off the worst worse first." They give you an odd look at your play on words. "I studied under Dr. Seuss." you give as explanation before getting back to the case. "Start with I.V. methylprednisolone for hyperacute rejection. If that fails, we'll switch her to broad-spectrum antibiotics and hope we're not too late."

The team stands and exits the room to carry out their orders. You probably should ask for Cuddy's permission, but at the same time there really aren't good alternatives at this point, so why bother. Standing you turn and head back to your office to catch up on paperwork.

Tossing your jacket over the back of your desk chair you sit, grab your readers from the side of the desk, put them on and start the charting for your patient.

A few moments later, someone walks through your door. Looking up you see it's the dad from your pair of really old dudes. _What could he possibly want now?_

"Forget the tests," he tells you, in no uncertain terms.

Pulling off your glasses to focus on the greater distance, you answer dryly, "I think Junior might have a few words to say about that."

"I love him, but he can't let go," he says with a dramatic wave of the arm.

Smirking, you lean back in your chair. _This is fucking hilarious._ "40 bucks says he can."

"I can't do anything without him helping me like I'm senile. If I go back there, I'm gonna rip his throat out."

"You sure you won't warm up to him over time?" Sarcasm drips from you as you lean forward again and rest your arms on the table.

The old man gets a hundred dollars note out of his pocket and hands it to you. "Skip the blood work." You fight to suppress a smile. The janitor is going to be even happier now. Who knew you'd be able to use doing nothing to earn extra cash to pay for secret work sex? "Tell my son it's grim news. I need to be in a nursing home. A private room." He pauses and looks off to the distance. "Make it a suite."

"Be our little secret." You smile and nod back, pocketing the note.

Just as you do, Cuddy marches past your patient to stand in front of your desk, Taub and Foreman follow just behind.

"Apparently there is some disagreement amongst your team members about your orders for treatment."

"None that I was aware of." Looking past her you shoot a dirty look at your team. Foreman looks guilty. Of course.

Taub pipes in, "Foreman felt that since the treatment had the chance of killing the patient we should get a sign off first. I tried to tell her we needed to treat…"

Cuddy interrupts, "The odds are against it being hyperacute rejection." She obviously wants to hear the reasoning from you and not the minions.

"The odds are she's dead one way or the other, so maybe we should just skip the treatment and give her a chance to pick out her own casket." Cuddy scoffs at your comment and Taub smirks. "If we treat for rejection first, we have time on our side to adjust back to the treatment for infection. If we treat for infection first and it is hyperacute rejection, then we may just be trashing the lung and if she burns through it, she's not going to get a second one."

"Still…" she starts to argue.

"Look, sometimes real doctors, the kind who don't sit around on their large bureaucratic asses all day, have to make risky calls to save lives. Only an idiot thinks that the safe choice always equates to the ri…"

Incredulously, "I sit around on my bureaucratic ass?" she questions you.

"Yes. However well-formed," you joke, hoping that your normal banter will sit well with her and get her back to seeing some reason to your logic. "Look, Cuddy, this might be the only shot this girl gets. Don't fuck it up just because you feel compelled to play it safe. She's way past that."

Her head nods and she concedes, "I hope you're right, House," and walks away. The team follows close behind to finally move forward with the treatment.

As you watch the well-formed ass of Cuddy exit your office, you suddenly are aware that old dude never left. "She does have great cans," he says, and you smile, hoping things are finally okay with you and Cuddy again.

* * *

The day wore on, and you look for things to occupy your time. Allison is too busy, although you gave a good effort to distract her, her baser needs had been sated during your nooner, giving Cameron free rein over Allison's moral compass. She is all business and not in the mood to serve as your distraction.

Wilson is off curing bald kids. Cuddy is, well…Cuddy, so that isn't an option now. You wander the halls, brain drifting idly. _Oh, coma guy, why'd you have to go and become dead guy?_ Passing the chapel you decide to enter. It is thankfully empty as you amble forward toward the piano. _It won't be too much longer,_ you think, looking forward to moving into your new home and finally having your prized possession at your fingertips daily. Mmmm, both your favorite things to play under one roof.

Sitting on the bench, you place your fingers on the keyboard—whoever played it last forgot to close the lid—and slide your fingers back and forward on the smooth keys as you consider what you should play. A snippet of a melody had been in your head over the weekend, something new. Wishing you had perfect, rather than relative pitch, you poke around the general area of where you think the first note lives and on the third attempt you hit your target. From there it is easier, and you slowly find the notes swimming around in your head. When you have them all found, you play them in time.

It's in a triple meter, adagio, key of F major, at least thus far. It's only eight bars, who knows where else it will lead you? Happy with the tempo and rhythm, you add a simple bass line next, and on a third pass fill in the harmonic structures. Then you go back to the solo melody as you hear a new line — a bridge perhaps? The first eight sound good repeated, then a bridge and back to the A section. Yeah, there really is a reason A-A-B-A was the most popular song form for the better part of a century—it just works.

Pecking out what you hear in your head, the bridge modulates to the… "Hey, House." Your train of thought is disrupted by your best friend. "That sounds nice. What is it?"

"Dunno yet," you answer honestly.

Nodding in understanding, he takes a seat on the front pew, just in front of the piano bench, and changes the subject. "So we haven't really had a chance to talk since the engagement. How're things going?"

Continuing to let your right hand meander over the new melody you say, "Nothing's changed, really. We just have rings now, and a hospital full of people who're gonna to be pissed that they wrongfully lost bets. At least in the short term. Oh, and engagement sex is excellent. You never told me. I'm deeply wounded."

"Were you really having sex when I called you?"

"Yep."

"Oh, God…" Wilson groans.

"That is definitely what she said," you say and rip off a blues riff, before shutting the lid and swinging around to fully face him.

"Now I owe Sam another $50. Damn." Wilson shakes his head in resignation.

"Another?" You shoot him a questioning look, wondering how it is that Sam seems to already know you better than your best friend. Then again, you are his type as much as she is, so it stands to reason she'd understand you.

"I bet her you eloped."

You roll your eyes. "Strange reaction for a guy to be pissed when he thought he'd won the bet."

He glances up at you, a shrewd and devious glint in his eye. "Just because I felt hurt, doesn't mean I can't at least make a few bucks as a consolation."

"Just when I doubt there is any way you can _possibly_ be a Jew…"

He shakes his head at you in disapproval, sighing. "Have you actually set a date?"

"Nope. We agreed to do that after we move into the new place and now Allison might be moving to the Immunology department in a few months, so that could factor in. My guess is at least five, but no more than eight months. Unless she's preggers, then who knows? Maybe a month so she doesn't complain about looking fat."

Well, you really weren't supposed to go there, but you did. Sometimes you just can't help yourself. Cannot wait _one more day_ to find out if there is even something to talk about. But if you wait, the odds are she isn't pregnant, and you'll most likely have lost your chance to see _that_ look.

 _God, it is so easy sometimes._

"Are you joking? Of course you are. You're both adults, one of you is a genius, the other is just shy of it and you're both doctors… Don't tell me you're already _trying_ to have kids? I don't think I can handle that." He genuinely looks pale. _Oh, Wilson._

"Relax and breathe, Uncle James," digging just a little more as you smirk. "There's maybe a 1% chance. Allison forgot her third-to-last pill because we had a shit day Thursday. Then we went and had unprotected engagement sex once before she remembered. So. Highly unlikely, but still a possibility."

He looks at you, puzzled, trying to read your feelings about the topic. You've never confided in him about any desire to be a father. Mostly you have made fun of his desires for fatherhood at any opportunity he would lend you. But he also knows you, knows that your defenses often fight against your true desires, just to hide your insecurities.

"Yeah, very unlikely… So why bring it up with me? I can bet Cameron doesn't want anyone to know until it's a sure thing… unless… holy shit." He says deadpan, then looks you square in the eye. "You _want_ to have kids with her." He's stunned. Hell, so were you until Friday. Now, you know for sure you want a family with Allison. Are you still scared shitless you'll be an awful dad? You bet your ass. Do you have any doubt now that with Allison you'll become a better man, and therefore have a real shot at becoming a decent enough dad? None.

Besides, you really want to have pregnant sex with her. Lots of it.

Looking back at Wilson in feigned shock, "You say that like I have a choice in my biological imperative to breed."

"Just don't put the cart before the horse, House. You've been together a whole month. Make sure you can live with each other first before you bring someone else into it. At least on purpose."

You roll your eyes again. Wonder if he really knows you at all sometimes. Then again, you do have problems with impulse control.

"So, did that thing with Cuddy blow over? You never really got to tell me what happened because of…and Cuddy wouldn't talk to me about it either, which means it must have been bad."

"Her thong was definitely in a twist. And you shoulda heard Allison lay into her. It was epic."

"I wondered about that too, especially with the whole Ross thing. She really went to bat for Cameron with the board on Monday. I guess she wanted to make up for whatever happened between them."

"That, and she'd promised Allison the first management-level position in that department when it opened up the same time she asked her to take the E.R. position. Trust me, the board is way less scary than an irate Cameron."

"Oh, I was referring to the board seat - not the Immunology position."

"What about it?" you ask, wondering why Cuddy made it seem like it was just as much the board's idea as hers.

"Well, there were quite a few that really wanted Miller."

"I thought Miller didn't want it?"

"She was…reconsidering the offer. My theory is that there are a few board members who think she'd be easier to put in their back pocket. That she'd be just active enough to show up and vote and that her vote could be easily influenced."

"And these members generally don't see eye to eye with Cuddy? Which, I know, is crazy hard with those low cut tops. Who the hell can manage to look in her eyes? Does she even have eyes?"

He ignores your high school humor. "Well, mostly they do, but there is one topic they never see eye to eye on," and gives you a knowing look.

Well, that makes way more sense. "So that explains why she wanted to keep a lid on our relationship until the board votes. She doesn't need Allison's vote _for_ me, she just needs one less vote _against_ me…"

"I don't see how they aren't going to hear about it. Most the hospital think you're already married."

"Yeah. That ship has sailed. She must just want to make sure that Allison doesn't seem as crazy as me."

"I, for one, am starting to doubt," he teases, before continuing seriously. "Well, the vote will be close, but Allison's professional record speaks volumes. If she decides she wants it, I think the opposition would be hard pressed to present any good reason not to give her the board seat. We only need a single-vote majority for this. Question is, does she want it?"

"I think so. But she needs to decide on the Immunology position first. Apparently she's gotten overly attached to the lameness of the E.R."

"I always told you that she likes lame."

Just as you start to make a witty comeback, your team invades the chapel looking grim. Taub informs you, "Steroids didn't work and then antibiotics didn't work."

Chase jumps in, frustrated. "The new lung's ruined, and it's not rejection or infection. The only two options were wrong."

Your brain spins for a moment. "Unless it's not LAM."

"It is LAM. The tests were positive," Chase argues.

But you know, "Then the tests have to be wrong."

You need to get away from them all and think. What looks like LAM, acts like LAM, trashes lungs like LAM, but isn't LAM? There has to be something missing. Some piece of the puzzle not yet presented.

"I need to think," you announce as you stand up and exit the chapel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Becoming Us: Chapter 3**

You menander around the halls, mind spinning. What have you missed? There has to be something. It's not terribly surprising to find yourself finally settle outside the glass walls of your patient's room in the ICU. In a twist of coincidence, someone left a miniature finger skateboard on the counter at the nurses' station. Placing your fingers on it, you flip it and push it around the surface of the counter as you continue to rack your brain over the puzzle.

A voice pulls you from your mind; it's the brother. He rolls up in his wheelchair as he addresses you. "I want to make sure you're trying everything to save my sister."

Hating to have your train of thought interrupted, you bite back "Everything? Well, that must be it. See, I thought you guys checked the box marked, 'try every other thing.'"

Ah, look you've upset him. Damn straight, being a cripple doesn't give him a free pass on interrupting you. His voice is shaking, "I'm the one that's supposed to die first. I'm the damaged one, not her. She never even gets a cold."

Great. What good is this doing any of them? You really need this kid to shut up and roll away so you can think.

"Damage has a way of spreading to everyone around you. For example, your obvious emotional damage is now making me have a philosophical conversation instead of dealing with your sister. See how that might be damaging?" _Fuck it. I'm out of here._ You start to walk away, but his comment begins to nag you. _Wait a second..._ "Never?" You turn back.

 _That has to be it. She's so goddamned selfless she's hiding something. Some sort of symptoms that she thinks don't matter because she doesn't want anyone to worry about her health and well being when roller boy should get all of the attention in that department._

Storming into the room with her, her parents and Taub, you ask "When was the last time you had a cold? Any minor aches, swelling, anything?"

The girl mumbles something but the mask makes it impossible to understand and her mother interjects "It's been years. She never gets colds."

"I didn't ask when's the last time she mentioned it. I asked when she had one—even a tiny one." Grabbing her oxygen mask, you hold it away from her mouth so she can speak.

"It's nothing. Sometimes my ears ache a little."

With a sigh, "So now tell me the rest of the nothing." _This should be enlightening._

"M–my chest... Soreness. Some congestion."

Her father steps up, "You never said anything about that."

Defending herself she tells him, "I barely noticed it until that skateboarding tournament in Denver."

 _Dever. Well the plot thickens._

"How long ago?" You ask.

"A... year? Cold's nothing when I think of what Hugo goes through every day."

 _Fucking kid. She's damn near killed herself._ "Yeah, we get it. Your brother, the Saint. His sister, the Martyr." Storming out of the room, Taub follows you. Sickle cell trait. She's going to need another lung.

"Thank God you followed me," you tell him sarcastically. "Now you can go back to the transplant committee while I get confirmation."

"Confirmation of what?"

"What causes low-level cold symptoms for a year, can ruin two lungs, is immune to drug therapies, and gets worse in cities nicknamed 'Mile-High'?"

"A clotting disorder?" he shoots, and misses.

"She has a nasty case of sickle cell trait. Her heart arrhythmia wasn't sudden at all. Screwed-up blood cells screwed-up the blood vessels, which gave us a screwed-up positive for LAM. If she'd told us about her symptoms sooner—like ever—she might not be dying."

"So she's gonna die."

"Unless we can find—"

"It's like you told Cuddy, she burned through one donor lung. Transplant committee's never gonna give her a second one."

You stop for a second to think. _God it is so obvious—the brother was a match_. "Unless we don't need their approval." He raises his eyebrows at you and you head off to the lab to confirm your latest theory, tired of sitting this one out on the sidelines while your team misses things. You'll be damned if you lose another patient this soon.

* * *

As you wait for the tests to confirm sickle cell trait, your mind wanders over the choice you are going to have to offer up to the parents. Shorten the life of one child drastically to hopefully save the other. And let's face it, half a lung isn't exactly going to buy their daughter a full and rich life. But it does buy her life.

These matters have always been math equations to you. The math is in favor of the daughter. The son is on short-time one way or the other, so what's a few years. She gets many years in trade for a few. That makes it a logical choice.

What would Allison say to your cold and calculating, but life saving math? Would she even give the parents the option? She's so goddamned honest, she probably would. Then again, she's so damned empathetic and moral, she might not feel that giving them the choice was less harmful than letting nature take its course.

If she was here, would she fight with you over the morality of it?

You miss those fights; miss how passionate she is when she believes she is right.

If they were your children, would the two of you want the option? Hard to have empathy for them being in the dark when you don't need anyone to tell you what your only medical options are. Both of you would know. But would you agree?

Would you give your son the option to make the call? Obviously you wouldn't force him, but by even mentioning it would it be coercive? He's not an adult, but he isn't a child either. He should have the right to save his sister if he wants to. But will the sister even be willing to take the lung? She refused his marrow, which bore nearly zero chance of affecting him in any long term adverse way.

Probably will have to talk to Cuddy on this one. Then again, do you really need her approval to offer the only choice of treatment? Not really. It would at best be a courtesy, because regardless of her answer, your mind is made up. It's a near impossible choice for the parents to have to make, but it is more wrong to not at least give them the choice. If things go wrong and they sue later, that's someone else's job to fix. Your puzzle is solved and now your only job is to give them the best course of action and hope to hell they are smart enough to take it.

The results come up on the screen, pulling you back to reality. It's positive for sickle-cell trait and the brother is a donor match. All that's left to do is deliver the bomb to the parents. You don't look forward to it. But it has to be done.

Glancing down at your watch you realize you are due to deliver your fake test results to the really old dudes. Sighing, you decide to avoid delivering this bad news for just a few minutes longer. Maybe Taub will be able to work some sort of magic with the transplant committee, so maybe you won't have to tell them at all.

* * *

Surprisingly there was something other than old age wrong with really really old dude. Too much denture cream. It was temping, for a moment, to just let it go and do what both men asked you, but honestly they need to work out their issues, and you can't really pass up pointing out the solution to the puzzle, once you realized there was one.

Sadly, you also felt honor bond to return their money, so no free work-sex fund for you. Looks like that fun is going to have to be paid for out of your own pocket. Not that you are complaining about money well spent. Then again, there has to be a way you can con Wilson into paying. There always is.

It's nearly the end of the work day and you've put off talking to the parents as long as you can. Still no word from the transplant committee, but you know what the answer is. You head back to your office, planning to touch base one more time with your team, but as you walk in you find the patient's father leaning over a chair in your office.

 _Well, looks like it's time to get this over with._

He turns as you enter, looking tired to the bone. "The transplant committee's... never gonna give my daughter another lung, are they?"

"No," you answer honestly.

"Are there any other options?" For a moment you hesitate, wondering again for just a moment if you should loop in Cuddy, but failing to see any other option at all, you again decide it's their only option and as shitty as it is, it would be more awful to not at least give them the choice.

"We can take marrow and half a lung from your son. It would likely shorten his life significantly. He'd never be able to go on a respirator if he needed to. Most people with CMD need to as their respiratory function declines."

The father looks dejected, but holds himself together. "How long... do we have to decide?"

"Morning at the latest," you tell him.

He lets out a nearly inaudible laugh at the prospect of having to make this life and death decision for his children. Then looks in your eyes, and tells you "Thank you," before leaving your office.

Sitting at your desk, you decide you should stick this one out. Pulling out your phone you text Allison to let her know she's on her own tonight.

'Looks like I'm pulling an all nighter'

'I'm off in an hour. Want me to go pick up dinner for u?'

'Yeah'

'I'm just doing paperwork if you want company'

Thinking about that for a moment, you consider about whether or not you even want to discuss this with her right now. She knows you too well, so she'll ask what's on your mind when she sees you. Thinking back to last week, you decide you can't just keep everything locked away from her. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about this.

Getting up, you head toward the E.R..

Reaching her office, you find her door open and walking in, you close it behind you. Wandering over to her couch, you lay down, and cross your legs, propping your head up on the armrest facing her desk. "So the girl burned through the lung. It wasn't LAM, it was sickle-cell trait. She'd been withholding symptoms. Thought she just had a cold, and didn't want to be a bother because of everything her gimp brother goes through everyday," you end with a mocking sing-song girly voice to emphasize your point.

Looking up from her work, she takes off her glasses, and sighs. "So, she's going to die? Is there any hope of the transplant committee…"

"No, but the brother is a match."

"Oh…"

You nod.

"That's awful."

"Yeah, if the brother was healthy, not a huge deal; shitty, but manageable. But with CMD…"

"Do the parents know?"

"Yeah. I just told the father. I assume he and his wife are discussing it now."

"Did Cuddy give you a hard time? I can't imagine she'd be thrilled with the idea of putting the brother under the knife."

"It's the only treatment option. Whether she likes it or not, I'm not going to deny them the choice. I'd want the choice."

"Me too. But I hope we never have to have it." She leans back and stares off, lost in her thoughts as her hand moves to rest on her stomach.

"I think they should do it. Well do it, in so much as give the choice to their son. He may not be an adult, but he should have the right to help his sister. It's his body and he should be given the option." You toss out to her, wondering if you've just gotten yourself into a fight, but at the same time thinking that if Allison were in the kid's shoes she'd want the choice too. She'd do it too, because she is selfless. But when it's your kid's lung and not yours…

"I agree. But I'm glad it's not us."

Suddenly, you are truly a little terrified by the idea of trying to have more of a life again. Seeing just how easily happiness can be stripped from you. If the best case scenario freaks you out, the worst case… How the hell will you handle that?

Sensing your distress, Allison rises and walks over to you, climbs over you to lay on you. As she settles resting her head on your chest she continues, "But if I had to deal with something like that, I'd want you with me. I know you'd do the right thing, no matter how much it hurt you. It's one of the reasons I _like_ you, remember?"

Tired of the subject, you decide to change it. "So, any decisions on the job?"

"I think I want to take it. I think that I'd have a better work-life balance with the Immunology position. Normal hours. Less overtime. Less chance of dealing with random crazy people. If we have a family, those things are going to matter."

So much for avoiding the subject. You run your fingers over her hair, and hug her against you, and give another try at avoiding the topic of family. "Bonnie left me a message earlier today. My apartment is officially on the market as of this morning."

"Oh cool. I think we did a great job staging it. Hopefully it sells quickly."

" _Hopefully_ no one touches my piano, or there is going to be hell to pay."

"I bet you're looking forward to having it around everyday again."

"I'm looking forward to playing my two favorite ladies at the same time."

"Mmm, me too."

"Oh that reminds me, I need to call my piano tuner and make an appointment and ask her about piano movers. The place I used to move it last time went out of business."

"Speaking of movers, we need to hire regular movers as well."

"Actually, I have that covered." You smile to yourself, having confirmed that one of your former prostitutes was able to set something up for you.

"You better have included some hot straight male strippers." Allison raises her head to look at you and adds, as if she had read your mind.

Cocking your head you raise an eyebrow at her, questioning if she'd really just figured you out. "Oh you are so busted! But seriously, they better make sure to call some guys. We have a lot of heavy shit, and a handful of hookers probably isn't going to be able to handle it."

"Paula launders her money via a legit moving company."

"I don't know whether or not to be pissed or impressed with you most the time. Only Gregory House would call his prostitutes to find a mover. Just so you know, if or when we are pregnant I am not having a prostitute as a midwife or as a nanny. And it is not okay for you to hire one when I am too big to have sex with or for the month after I give birth."

"From what I hear about that first month, I doubt I'll be able to get it up with that much sleep deprivation. I'm not 25 any more. As for before, I have fantasies about fucking you right up to the day you pop. You are totally going to be one of those hot pregnant women. I've already started planning what positions we'll use to best work around the fetus."

"Seriously?" She looks at you agast, then seeing you _are_ serious, smiles broadly at the knowledge that you think of her like that.

"I know. It's crazy, but sex with an extremely pregnant woman is one of the few things I haven't done and it is a huge, and I do mean huge, turn on for me. And, as a bonus for you, great orgasms have been known to help bring on and speed up labor."

"You know that's not entirely proven, but I'm a willing to be a test subject for the sake of science."

"So I can stroke your clit while you are in delivery?"

"Don't push your luck."

Leave it to Allison to right the ship again. Just joking around with her, having her show you her complete acceptance of you and your bizarre nature calms you and makes you feel like you can do anything so long as it is with her.

Getting back to the real subject of moving, "So Paula can toss in some eye candy so long as it includes both sexes?"

"Coed strip party after the move?" She laughs as she questions you, her chin rests on her arms which are now crossed over your chest, so she still can look up at you.

Waggling you eyebrows at her you carry on with the joke, "I'm game if you are. Could lead to a hot orgy and if you wanted to get that every-seven-year-threesome-itch out of the way, I am sure she could arrange that too."

"I thought you didn't like sharing?"

"Like I said, if it's a girl and I get to watch, it's not cheating. You'd be doing it for me, so that isn't sharing either."

You thought that would earn you another eye roll, but she's feeling feisty and pushes the banter further, teasing you back. "And if I'd like to see a hot guy go down on you?"

"Hey, a mouth is a mouth when your eyes are closed or are busy watching your hot fiance getting licked by a really hot brunett." You say straight faced, figuring there's very little chance she's serious on that account, but hey, you are open minded enough to at least consider the pros and cons of what you might get out of the deal.

That earns you a head shake and an incredulous look. "You're a hedonist."

"I am; and you like it. You come all over my hedonist cock every time. I am also secure enough in my sexuallity to do that for you if it made you come really hard," with that you grab her ass and push her legs apart and thrust up against her, letting her feel the semi-erection her body paired with the banter has given you.

Sitting up on you she rubs herself against you in turn, "So if I let a girl go down on me while you watch, you'd do the same with a guy?"

"Only seems fair." You stroke her through the fabric of her scrub pants, earning a low moan.

"I almost want to call you on that and see if you are serious," she says with a twinkle in her eye as she leans down to kiss you.

Giving her a peck, you give back on final retort, "You just let me know when and where, and I'll call the prostitutes." before kissing her back and sliding your tongue out to meet hers.

Before you can reach for the hem of her shirt, you are interrupted by a knock on the door. Allison sits up and swings off of you, as you sit up and adjust yourself, now being nearly fully hard. The door opens and Rebecca walks in, followed closely by your team. "House, your team tried to page you and text you but apparently you left both your phone and your pager in your office. They were all outside the door, doing rock paper scissors on who was going to interrupt you when I decided to save them the trouble."

"Still clamoring to see me naked again?"

"Well, if you want privacy, you should lock the door."

Taub interrupts, "Della figured out that her parents were considering taking a half lung from Hugo, so she yanked off her IVs and oxygen. Then ran off, and hid on the landing of the stairwell, waiting to die. Luckily we found her, but she's delivered a hypoxic insult to her body and now the parents have to make a decision in the next half hour or so or it won't matter anyway."

"Dammit," you say under your breath, rise and leave without another word to anyone. You walk to the waiting area of the ICU and see the parents. They look exhausted and completely the worse for wear.

A hand rests on your shoulder, and you look to your side to find Cuddy standing beside you. "I heard about the treatment option you gave them. I should probably be more mad at you, but I don't know what else we could have done. What an awful choice." She says sadly, looking on at the parents.

"Yeah," you agree, as they turn and walk toward you.

"Dr. House?" the husband begins, as he hugs his wife to his side, "We've decided. We're not gonna take the lung from my son."

You can't believe it and for a moment you are speechless, and just stare down to the floor. Cuddy steps up and speaks for you, "She's still on the waiting list. We're gonna do whatever we can do find her another—"

The anger over their outright ignorance and lack of logic overwhelms you. Looking up you let loose on them. "What ginormous crack pipe have you people been sucking on?"

"House!" Cuddy yells at you, but you ignore her.

"Are you gonna pretend that you're not choosing your own daughter's death?"

"Our daughter doesn't want it." the mother defends, and you scoff.

"Probably doesn't wanna floss her teeth either. She's a mindless teenybopper," you contend.

"Don't put this on them." Cuddy grabs your arm and pulls you toward her, and that does it and you turn on her just a quickly, tired of everyone around you being pussies. This whole thing stinks for sure, but letting this girl die just because she has a martyr complex is completely and wrong.

"What do you mean, put it on? It is on them! As much as they may wanna pass the lung here!"

"Of course they do! You're handing them an impossible choice."

Shaking your head no, you get right in Cuddy's face waving around your free hand, "Life has handed them a crappy choice, and they're picking the crappier option — trading who knows how many healthy decades for four or five years in which roller boy will be a limp rag."

"Not everything is a math equation," she contends, but you disagree. Everything is very much just that, emotions or not.

"Do you need me to explain the difference between decade and year?"

Your exchange becomes fast and heavy as you and Cuddy fight to get in the last words. "Their son is a human being. You know what they are, right? Intrinsic value. We don't get to decide—"

"And we do it every day. If the two of them needed the same lung—"

"He needs to keep the one he's got. You don't get to play God by ripping out—"

"That train left the station when we learned to do transplants. The rest is just paper-pushing. Of course, now we're on to your real area of expertise."

"Oh, I thought we were moving on to yours — bullying your patients into embracing your own lack of a moral—" Just then you both catch a glimpse of the brother roll up beside you and Cuddy stops mid sentence. The look on his face, shows the deep hurt that he has been left out of this immense decision that affects him more than anyone else in the room.

He rolls away towards his sister's room then, his mother calling after him "Hugo. Honey."

Then the father, "We didn't mean for you to hear any of this. Hugo, please!"

Hugo wheels himself to his sister's bedside, where she is sleeping. And the rest of you follow behind him. He takes her hand and wakes her up to tell her "I want you to take half my lung."

Della speaks lowly from behind her oxygen mask, "No. I'm not."

Tears being to fall down his cheeks as he continues "You do so many great things. I just watch. I get to watch and coach and cheer. But that's not me out there. It never will be. If you take this piece of me, carry it with you... then I really can share in everything you do. This is the great thing I can do with my life. Don't make me live without you."

Crying now too, Della takes his hand and agrees to take the lung, and you breath a sigh of relief.

Looking to Cuddy, you tell her softly "I did give them an impossible choice. The kid took it away from them." She nods and pats your arm, before folding her arms across her body and walking away. Exhaling, you feel like you may finally be getting back to some kind of normal with the Dean of Medicine. With that small victory, you smile and walk back towards the E.R. With the decision made, there is no reason for you to stay. She's in the hands of the surgeons now.

You are glad the brother stepped up. If your son was in that situation you'd be proud of him for doing the right thing. Not just because of the math, but also because he understands what life is worth. You're back to not being afraid again. Seeing that logical act of selflessness, makes you understand why you need to take the risk on happiness.

* * *

Wednesday came, and the surgery went well. She'll live, and the brother will too, just maybe not for quite as long. In a few weeks they'll be able to go home and try to get back to normal.

With Wednesday also came Allison's period.

Neither of you is really surprised, but part of you is just a little disappointed. Of course, the logical part of both of your brains knows you should wait. No need to rush. Move into the new house, get married, get used to being two before you become three or four. At least now, she sees you are serious about having a family with her. Your flash of disappointment must have shown, because she kissed you deeply after seeing your reaction.

Taking your hand she leads you to the bedroom, you pull back the sheets climb in and spoon behind her before falling asleep contented.

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_

 _Hey all, so this was one of those necessary to move things forward chapters that I wish I could say was more exciting for Hameron, but it does bring us to the end of my remaking of 7-02 "Selfish."_

 _As most of you know the first half of season 7 is all Huddy all the time, so at this point I may still borrow some cases for background themes at work, but for the most part my focus will be shifting to House and Cameron settling in with their new life together and the ups and downs that go with a new relationship. There are stills some major events from the show I'll want to cover, but expect more and more divergence from the canon plotlines from here on out._

 _Atavares and I went off on a tangent because of the banter with Cameron and House in her office. The particular line "Hey, a mouth is a mouth when your eyes are closed or are busy watching your hot fiance getting licked by a really hot brunett." was highlighted and I was told that this was something she'd really like to read and I thought, I'd like to write that, but not so much in this story. So I started a short story that is loosely based on this universe of mine. Our couple will doing some interesting things to spice up their sex life which has waned a little seven years into their marriage._

 _So look for that to pop up as a separate story in the next week or so._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for being patient. The summer seems to afford me less time to write, but at least this chapter is a long one and hopefully enjoyable. As always, big thanks goes out to atavares! If you didn't already see it, I did write a little companion story for this series called "The Seven Year Itch," so check it out if you like._

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 4**

The next few weeks flew by and before you knew it you were spending your first night in your new home.

It didn't take Bonnie long to sell your apartment and, much to your delight, two buyers got into an outright bidding war driving the final price beyond what you were asking for it. It is a great place in a prime neighborhood, which has become more hip in the fifteen years since you purchased it, and is now trending with the young professionals. So the timing couldn't have been much better.

The quick sell meant you could pack the remainder of your things and move into your new home in one day rather than having to wait to move the furniture you left for the purpose of staging. Paula sent a couple of people over early to help breakdown and organise the furniture, as well as to finishing boxing up your belongings.

Allison took the reins overseeing the movers. You got the feeling that, while she accepted your choice to hire movers via a former hooker of yours, she also was a little uneasy with the idea of you being alone with them. She felt better once she saw that Paula wasn't personally involved and that two of the three movers were male and appeared to indeed be legitimate movers. She never did decide if she believed the woman working with them moonlighted in the escort business. Watching the gears of her mind turn the whole of moving day amused you to no end.

Wilson, Sam, Rebecca and her husband, Tyler, showed up at the new place for a few hours in the afternoon and early evening to help unpack boxes and set up furniture. So you were able to get the family room, office and one spare bedroom setup, which housed your bedroom set.

Earlier in the week, you and Allison decided that one nice thing you could do with the extra money from selling your apartment would be to buy a king sized bedroom set for the master bedroom. The spare bedrooms will be furnished with the queen sets you already have. So for a couple of nights you'll be in one of the spares rooms, until your new things were delivered and set up.

Curling up with her under the light cotton sheets, far too tired to christen the room, it occurs to you this is the first time in more than a year that you've slept in your own bed. It was also the first time ever you have been in your own bed with Allison. You had become used to her bed. She had a tempurpedic mattress and, while it was a little less bouncy for fun time, it was excellent for sleeping. Your right shoulder and right hip hurt far less in the mornings. The springs from your bed suddenly feel like they create awkward pressure points. Hopefully, tomorrow you'll have Allison's bed setup.

"I miss your bed," you complain and get no response. She's completely zonked. _No wonder. She was going none stop all day._ You were shattered and all you did was supervise. Sleep finds you quickly as well.

The morning comes and Allison is still out cold when you wake. Even your playful, soft, sensual touches do nothing to stir her, so you get out of bed, body protesting more than it had in a long time both because of the active moving day and the inferior mattress. _Hopefully the ibuprofen made it's way out of a box and into a logical drawer or cabinet somewhere._ You open the bedside table and happily discover a bottle there, taking three before standing up and making your way to the bathroom.

After the morning piss, you toss on pajama pants and head to the kitchen to fix coffee, but everything for the kitchen is still in boxes and you are in no mood to deal with finding the coffee pot because you're starving. Glancing down at your watch, you see it is past ten. As tired as Allison is, she won't want to sleep this late with so much left to do, so you head back to the bedroom to wake her so you can go eat and get back to unpacking.

Sitting on the edge of the bed you shake her arm. "Hey sleepy head. Wake up. It's past noon."

As she rolls over with a groan and, as she stretches, you tug the covers down to admire her lithe figure. "Damnit," she says halfheartedly through a yawn. "I wanted to get a lot done today."

"I'm joking. It's only ten-fifteen. You were completely knocked out, I was gonna let you sleep a few more minutes, but there isn't any food and the coffee is all boxed up, so I figured we'd go grab breakfast. I'm starving."

"Me too," she agrees, rubbing her eyes and rolls out of the opposite side of the bed. She grabs her glasses from the side table, tosses them on and heads to the bathroom, leaving you to change clothes.

After a big breakfast, you head back to your new home. As soon as the door closes, she begins stripping as she makes her way to the great room. _Fuck yeah._ She obviously wants to christen the place now and you are more than happy to oblige.

"So which room should we start with?" She asks.

"There's the couch in the greatroom. Or we could start with backyard sex. We've never done it outside before."

"Hmm… Couch quickie. Outdoor sex should be saved for a day when we have nothing else to do, so we can savor it," she decides and waits for you to finished getting naked and sit. Once in position, she lowers herself on you without preamble to ride your hard dick. Fifteen minutes later you are both dressed again and working on organizing the kitchen, which in your mind makes it next on the list of rooms to break in.

And so, the day progresses with various rooms being set up, followed by christening sex, until Wilson and Sam break the pattern bringing over dinner around 6:00. They stick around for a couple of hours to help a little more. Not that you mind the help, but it was certainly more fun with just the two of you.

You both took Monday off from work and by the end of the three day weekend you have the major things setup. Furniture was in place, the kitchen was unpacked and the new knife set and cookware that Wilson and Sam gave you as a housewarming gift was begging you to break them in. All that was left were some boxes of clothes, books and various knick knacks and keepsakes — half of which would probably remain in boxes.

Even with your combined belongings, you needed more furniture to fill the place, but that will take care of itself over time. Your new bedroom set was delivered and set up on Monday, and then you both realized that you had forgotten to purchase king sheets, so one more night on Allison's old bed meant giving it a sentimental send off with you tied to the bed frame, blindfolded and at the mercy of Allison's every whim. You were really going to miss that bed. Good thing you still have full access to it.

Then again, the new bed's Asian inspired lattice design had similar options. You had wanted another headboard, until she pointed out to you of the lack of _options_. It was just another great reason to love her — she might think about sex even more than you do.

And your piano was delivered Monday as well. Now all that was left was for it to be tuned and you could reacquaint yourself with your lost love. Emily would be over tomorrow night to tune it. She was a little shocked you still want to use her piano tuning services since you stopped calling her for her other tune-ups. Given your new, obviously serious relationship, she was somewhat uncomfortable meeting Allison.

But you didn't want another piano tuner and Allison told you it was fine, she even looked like she meant it. Besides, Allison would be there, so if sex broke out it, she was sure to be involved, which justified sleeping with a hooker while in a relationship in your twisted, sex addled mind. Even though you were fairly certain a snowball had more chance in hell than you had at a threesome tomorrow with your piano tuner.

Everything in your life seemed to be falling into place again. Hopefully you learned your lesson from your last fall off the wagon.

You upped the number of sessions with Nolan since the whirlwind weekend, now meeting every Friday. Allison is currently attending all sessions with you, per your request. Strangely, since your breakdown, you find it easier to focus with her there. The need to evade talking about the serious things lessens, her presence reinforces all the good things in your life, all the reasons you have for becoming happy.

The change is not lost on Nolan. He is pleased by it and impressed with how well you bounced back from your relapse with vicodin. He's no idiot, and he knows she's the reason you didn't go off the deep end. However, he has expressed to you that at some point you need to be able to cope without her as a security blanket.

But like the stubborn child you are, you are standing firm, thumb in mouth, with no plans on independence anytime in the near future. You've let her in completely now, and with that honor comes the price of possible suffocation. So far she's all in and you are pretty sure she would gladly drown in your essence before coming up for air. At one time that frightened you for her, but in some kind of fucked up, broken way, it is exactly what both of you need.

She sits spread eagle atop your piano, both of you blissfully nude. The music stand is folded down, a towel folded in half laid over it to protect the finish, providing a makeshift bench for her to display her golden vagina right in front of your face. A year of temperature fluctuation and the move make the normally pristine instrument sound like it belongs in a saloon, but for this moment that seems fitting. Allison sits lewdly, spread out before you as you play a bluesy melody with stride bass sounding every bit fit for a scene from an old west whore house.

Leaning forward, you give her a slow lick, never missing a beat, challenging yourself to make her moan in time, and wondering if she'll moan somewhat in key. _Given the shit tuning, it shouldn't prove too much a challenge_ , you think. Her feet lift from the keys as she wraps her legs over your shoulders and around your neck, drawing you in deeper, and causing you to miss a couple of notes, but somehow you manage to stay in time, and continue the song.

"Fuck… Impressive," complimenting you, with a low lustful voice, she grinds on your face in perfect time, reminding you that your instrument collection is sorely lacking that drumset you long for her to learn to play. _Naked of course… Always naked_.

"Mm m mn mnnn tllnts," _I am a man of many talents_ you try to tell her, but she won't give you the space to form vowels.

"Oh, gawd, Greg baby…" she cries as you start a shout course and suck her in time with the marcato rhythms. She screams as you play the turnaround back to the top of the form and you smile as you play the melody one last time, wiping her come from your beard to her thigh as you do, then licking it off, still in perfect time. You play a cheeky 'shave and a hair cut' ending earning a smirk from her.

"I thought you said you couldn't play well during oral sex."

"No, I said I couldn't play anything worth playing while _receiving_ oral sex. I can play all night while giving — well at least play slow-strip honky-tonk blues piano. Straight ahead jazz might be hard, I'm sure there are a few easier classical pieces I could pull off and still lick you thoroughly, but they would be far less fun for you rhythmically. But the blues… The blues was meant to be fucked to."

"Speaking of fucking, we have a brand new bed." She raises her eyebrows and gives you a mischievous smile.

"We forgot to buy sheets, remember?"

"Just lay a flat sheet from a queen set over it. Just because we can't sleep on it easily that way, doesn't me we can't break it in with a good first fuck."

"I love it when you talk like that," you tell her with a wiggle of the eyebrows.

"I love you," she leans down and kisses you softly.

As she pulls away, you open your eyes and they meet hers as you tell her, "I know." She rolls her eyes at you, knowing you are playing the tough guy. _She's so adorable_.

You hate your leg right now. More than you may have ever hated it, because this is where you should pick her up, toss her over your shoulder and carry her off to your new bed and show her how much you love her too. You could do it, if the bed were ten feet away. It would cost you the next day, but it would be possible none the less. But the walk down the hall to the master bedroom is just too far. So you push back the bench and stand, at least having the strength to grab her around the waist and lift her off the instrument to prevent her having to step on the keyboard.

Once both her feet find the floor she wrapps her arms around your neck and kisses you deeply. Her body feels so perfect pressed fully against yours. However, you are starting to feel the full effects of the long-weekend's activities catching up with you and, unfortunately, with Little Greg. "I think the sperm factory has shut down for the night due to overproduction," you jokingly lament about your lack of activity south of the border, despite having just tasted her. _If that didn't get me hard, it's a lost cost for the night_.

"I'll take a rain check. Jacuzzi tub instead?" She offers, with little hint of disappointment. The suggestion sounds like a truly epic compromise in your book. The tub in the master is to fucking die for.

"Hell yeah! I love this place," you smile down to the gorgeous woman in your arms wonder yet again why you had to fight getting here so hard "and I love you. C'mon," you take her hand and lead her to the master bath.

Those words come easier and easier to you now. Everything that had happened with Stacy had made you terrified to say them. You weren't the gushing-with-emotion type before the life crushing breakup, but you said those three little words easily enough to a few women and meant them. You reserved them for when you meant it, but wasn't hard to say them like it is now.

With you first love, you professed it over and over because you believed it, because you wanted her to be your first and you to be her first. At the time, you wanted to be each other's last too. The only. It was probably because your traditional upbringing rubbed off on you more in those early years, despite your constant state of disagreement with your father. Sure you did a lot of fun things with a few other girls before her, but intercourse was something else — something sacred, special.

You still feel that way about it. No one would believe you if you told them. What kind of guy fucks hookers on a regular basis and thinks that intercouse is something sacred? It's something you've compartmentalized. Men have a biological need and for sex; you have no issue paying for services rendered. But with someone you like, someone who likes you back, being inside them is the most incredible gift. A sign of trust. It is far more than just getting off when you know the person and care about them.

You stopped fucking friends because you always get attached and that means risk and risk is only good for solving puzzles, not for your fragile emotional half.

Professing love with the words on top of all of that… Well, that makes it real and means you are past the point of making it back out safely if things fall apart. Before Stacy, it was an amount of hurt that you thought you could live with, now you know better. Sadly life is just as miserable, if not more so, when you deny yourself love. You've decided your last real hope for love is Allison Cameron. She loves you completely and you've succumb to loving her in kind. Still, it sometimes scares the hell out of you that she'll wake up one day, roll over and ask herself what the fuck she is doing with a crippled jerk old enough to be her father and leave you for a man worthy of her.

So you decided you _have_ to say the words more often. The words, if nothing else, might guilt her into staying for longer. A small manipulation to give you a chance to figure out how to _not_ be a manipulative jerk. It's nice you actually mean them, but at this point in the game, you'll do whatever it takes to keep her. Things feel right with her. You are terrified of going back now. You can't be alone again, not after allowing yourself to believe you can have more.

* * *

After a boring, clinic filled day on Tuesday, you head home. Allison is stuck working over but you leave early to pick up some sheets and to meet Emily for your piano tuning. Emily finishes up by 6:00 and now you have the new house to yourself for the first time.

The first thing you notice is just how quiet it is. You've lived in an urban apartment for so long, it almost seems as if you are in a vacuum, the only noises being those made by the air conditioner and refrigerator. You had wanted to cook dinner for the first time tonight and get neck deep in your superb new kitchen, but it seems ridiculous to cook a big meal for one, and you really don't feel like dealing with Wilson and Sam tonight. So, instead you order Thai and set about snooping through the boxes that Allison had in storage, which hopefully contain fun and embarrassing things from her past.

The first box yields her old textbooks from high school, a few tests and some research papers. All of which she received As and you glance over them, choosing a few that have topics of greater interest to read completely later, when you aren't neck deep in snooping.

The second box has more general reading, classics, many young adult, and a few trashy romance novels with the dirtiest bits dog eared for easy access. Fuck, now that has you a little turned on, knowing that a young Allison most likely marked these pages to warm up for masturbation sessions. Glancing over them, you pick one whose spine appears as if it had been opened more times than the others and plan on reading it to her in bed first chance you get. A demonstration is clearly in order.

The second box also contained her yearbooks and you flipped through them quickly, looking for her class photo from her senior year, and smile when you find it. Damn, it wasn't that long ago, but she was so incredibly young and a complete knockout. It certainly was now aiding your visuals of her and those naughty books.

On the third box you hit the jackpot. Lifting the frilly pink material from the box carefully, you held it up in front of you and inspected it. A ballet tutu. Judging by the size of it, she couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 when she wore it. Smiling broadly, you imagine how adorable she must have been. You are going to tease the shit out of her with this. Setting it aside, you look through the other contents of the box hoping to find a picture of her wearing it, but come up empty. You did however, find a family photo album.

By then the doorbell rings and you amble to the door to get your food and return to set it on the bar in the kitchen, then grab your pile of favorite finds and stack them on the bar to peruse as you eat. You decide for some light reading in the form of a research paper on the expansion of the universe since the big bang from Allison's junior year of highschool. It was neatly typed, double spaced and printed on an old school dot matrix printer. The edges of the paper show perforations on all sides.

A large 'A' was written and circled with red ink on the front of the cover sheet, with a note ' _Extremely interesting read! I think you should use this in your portfolio. It clearly demonstrates your ability to write technically and will compliment your creative writing nicely.'_ According to the title page the paper was written for her English class rather than a physics class, which you found intriguing, and immediately dismiss the given grade.

You open the paper and begin reading, as you shovel pad thai into your mouth with chopsticks. She's really a much better writer now, you muse, wondering if this quality of work was typical for a highschool student, better or worse. You are a little out of touch, having not read a high school research paper in over 30 years, and can't just make assumptions of quality based on grades given by people you don't know. It might have been given by an ' _everyone gets an A_ ' kind of person. You hate those people. Somewhere in the middle of that and your father, there has to be a happy medium between honesty and attainability.

She makes very little in the way of an original conclusion. The equations are all parroted from the reference books, with very little evidence that she truly understood why the math proved any aspects of the various theories presented. At best it was a clean and clear summation of other people's work. It was well outlined, logical and concisely written. As much as you can remember about high school, you decide it was probably better written than most.

 _Not much to tease her with here,_ you conclude, and put that paper and the others off to one side and begin looking over her senior yearbook in earnest. She was on the yearbook committee, the academic quiz team, and in band. She had an award for biology, was the ' _Outstanding Senior Band Member'_ and co-valedictorian of her class with some scrawny, but nice enough looking boy, whom you immediately wondered might be the boy who gave her the first oral sex experience. _Have to ask her about that later._

You absolutely loved seeing images of her in her marching band uniform. It was ridiculously masculine and that was only amplified seeing it on her tiny frame. Being the only female snare player, she was always surrounded by dorky looking guys, who made her seem even smaller and more out of place in the uniform, behind the large drum harnessed to her front.

You've always known her to dress… well… like a girl. In the casual images in various settings around the campus, she was generally clad in oversized t-shirts, sometimes covered with long sleeved flannel button downs and baggy jeans. Very mid 1990's grunge you think. Hell, if not for the flannel pattern and lack of proper sizing, most the kids pictured, including her, dressed a lot like you do now. Lack of ironing included. _Wonder when she changed?_

It seemed she wore her glasses a lot more. Her hair was almost always pulled up in a messy ponytail and was left blonde. _The dark hair must have been a college thing_ , you muse. It appeared that she purposely downplayed her looks. Except in her official class photo. In that image she looks like she should be prom queen, with boys falling all over themselves to get a piece of her action. She was a kid in all the other images, but this one she was a beautiful woman that could grace the cover of any magazine. Your older teacher scenario suddenly got equal parts hotter and dirtier as you begin to form a mental picture of 17 year old Allison.

Which brings you back to the romance novels. The teenage girls' version of playboy magazines. You wonder how many times she read those passages and touched herself, came over her fingers. Was she timid then? Sneaking around, working with her legs mostly together, embarrassed by what she was doing? Or did she embrace her young inner hedonist, lock the door and lie naked on the bed uncovered, legs spread open lewdly? Did she get curious and taste her own juices on her fingers? Goddamn, you need to know now. _Fucking E.R. with its fucking overtime._

Oh well. Best not to frustrate yourself further with those thoughts. Later, when she's home, you'll tease it out of her, one way or another.

 _Speaking of teasing,_ you think as you pick up the pink tutu. There has to be something great you can do with this. Not sure what just yet, but something for sure.

You put it down and clear your dinner trash. Once disposed of, you take the tutu to your bedroom and hide it in a drawer under your t-shirts. Then head back out to the kitchen and settle down with her family photo album. The first few pages have no images of her, only a couple and a little boy, who you assume, giving what it is and their looks, are her parents and Gabe. Her mother was probably around Allison's age now and extremely pretty. It was hard to tell from the images, but she seemed to have a shorter stature, and was a little curvier than Allison. Then again she had had a kid already, which probably account for the little bit of extra weight. Her hair was dark and cut short and her face a little rounder, but she had Allison's nose and eyes.

 _So the Cameron eyes are actually not from the Cameron side,_ you muse as you note her father's lighter blue eyes. She and Gabe got their hair color from his side, and likely their builds as well. He looked in great shape in the image and reminded you very much of Gabe, save the nose and the eyes. At a glance, you could see Allison with her dark hair in her mother, but the differences were clear close up. Turning a few pages, you come upon some baby pictures of Allison. She's being held by an older couple, that you think are her father's parents and looking at her grandmother, you can see more of Allison's traits. Her body type was more similar, even with an extra twenty-some years added on. She looked really good, in fact, sexy and in the picture was probably really close to your age now, give or take a couple of years. In fact, if you didn't have an idea of how old she would have to be for all the math to work out, you might even guess her in her mid-forties on looks alone.

"Damn, she doesn't just have a MILF, she has a GMILF," you mutter to yourself with a smile. Those genetics bode well for her. She'll still be hot as hell in her fifties and you'll keep getting to be the dirty old man that gets to tap that.

Another older woman holds her on the next page, dressed in a manner far more snooty and even through the image carried an air of one with money. You assume it's her richer grandmother. No grandfather to be seen, so he must already be passed away by the time Allison was born. She was what you would call a handsome woman, dark hair, her face far more angular than her daughter's. Attractive, but not nearly the looker that Grandma Cameron was. You wonder if either of her other two grandparents are alive. Granddad Cameron looked at least ten years older than his wife, was balding and mostly grey. He had a well worn face that spoke of long hard work days, and thick rough hands that said the same. Mechanic maybe.

Allison was a very small, very bald baby. You guess just over six pounds. So tiny and fragile, with really long thin fingers and was either grinning widely or completely asleep in all the images.

A few pages later you found her first day to school pictures. Damn, she was adorable, smiling broadly, squinting in the morning sun. You could imagine her in the tutu. However, the little girl in this image was dressed far more like a little boy with a t-shirt featuring Voltron. Obviously she was in a tomboy phase here, so you can only imagine that ballet went over like a lead balloon. Or maybe not, who knows. Kids that age are so random. That's part of why they are intriguing. Now you can fully picture the Allison that replaced hairspray with water and that makes you smile.

You take the image out of the book, and turn it over to see if it is inscribed.

' _Al - first day of kindergarten - 1984'_

 _Guess 'Al' is a family thing,_ you think and make a mental note to ask her about it later. Laying the picture flat on the counter, you pull out your phone and snap a picture of the image before putting it back in its place.

Skipping toward the back of the album you find gold — prom pictures. The man in you melts to mush at this sight of her with her hair pulled up, showing off her slender neck. The front of the dark blue sequin dress was conservative with a higher neck and long sleeves, but the back… there was no back. Just inch after inch of her supple flesh exposed, right down to the dimples just above her ass, where the fabric gathered just at the top of her tight little backside.

Pulling two images of the images, a front and back view, from of the book you snap images of the pictures with you phone before placing them back. You have half a mind to take them into a photo shop and have five by sevens made for your desk, but you don't feel like having people ask you "Is that your daughter?"

The final section in the photo book were images from Allison's wedding. Brian was young and handsome and exactly the type you'd expect for her. The best man… _Joel was it? Whatever._ Is looking at Allison with just as much awe as the groom. And Allison… So perfect in her simple white dress. So happy to be marrying a walking dead man. You want more than anything to give her the wedding she deserves, the family and life she deserves. As poor a choice as you are, you are now quite honored to be her choice.

Closing the book, you head to the piano. No sooner than you open the lid, you hear the garage door. _Allison must be home._ Pulling out your phone, you text 'bath?'

Walking toward the master bath you get a reply 'yes, plz.'

You start the water then head back out to the bedroom to strip. A few minutes later Allison joins you. "I see you've found some ammo in my old boxes."

"Some ammo and something fun for the spank bank. Your prom pics are fucking hot. Like runway model hot. Like how did your date walk around with the boner he must have had the whole night hot." Waggling your eyebrows at her, you start helping her get out of her clothes and pepper light kisses on her lips and neck as you do.

Sighing deeply at your touch, she offers "I can tell you exactly what I did with his boner, if you really want to know."

Making an 'ew' face you shake your head, then grin devilishly offering a better alternative. "No, thanks. I'd rather imagine I was your biology teacher again, and that I pulled you out of the dance to show you what a real woman you were in that dress."

"Mmmm. Tell me more about that." She begs, as you finish stripping her and lead her to the bath to soak away the long day with a playful story and maybe, if you are lucky, the chance to act it out before bed.

Turning the water off, you test the temperature with your hand, then step into the tub with a hand from Allison. Once you settle against the back, she follows you in and sits between your legs, then lies back against your chest, her head just to one side of yours. "Did you have your prom at the school, or some ballroom off campus?"

"Off campus, at a hotel near the recreation facility we rented for our after-prom."

"What the hell is an 'after-prom?'"

"Well, since prom night is a well known night for teenage drunkenness, sex, and other forms of debauchery, sometime in the early nineties most the schools in our area started having official chaperoned events. It was one of those MADD things maybe. You signed up to go and your parents signed off on it if you were still under eighteen. You didn't have to go, but the parents got a call if you signed up but didn't show. Anyway, it was just a big party at one of those recreation centers that have video games, laser tag, go-karts, stuff like that."

"Ah. Yet another way my generation screwed yours. We partied our asses off prom night. Lots of sex, drugs and roll 'n' roll."

"Yeah and lots of car wrecks, death and teenage pregnancy."

"Mmm well, the population math came out a wash, so it couldn't have been that bad," you tease and she shakes her head, and you image, her eyes are rolling too.

"So, I guess I would have needed a more elaborate plan, if you signed up for this after-prom stupidity," you muse, steering the conversation back to your sexy fantasy.

"Yes, you would have had to find a way to get my name checked off on the list."

"Well, I am sure Wilson would be just the kind of teacher that loves chaperoning those kinds of things. I'd have him cover for us."

"Good thinking. Now, I guess I would have needed to bring a fake date. Someone who knew about us and would be willing to cover for us."

"Ah yes, wouldn't want the jealous boyfriend to call Mommy and Daddy. Oh, and I saw pictures of your mother, she is a MILF. And the pictures from when you were born… damn, your Grandma Cameron is also hot. Is she still alive, because I'd like to thank her for passing on her stellar ass?"

"Um, yeah Gran's still around, she'll be 82 in September and quite the heartbreaker at the retirement home, so you'll have to take a number. But this is not exactly a topic that is going to get me aroused."

"Sorry, men are pigs, as you well know, and she was still super hot in those pictures. Nice to know you'll likely hold up well in the future." For that you receive a light elbow to the ribs, so you feign hurt for a moment then continue. "Anyway, so we made sure to cover your alibi this time, so I don't get beaten by your dad in this story… hopefully just by you."

"I'm sure, but you'll have to teach me, because I'm not that experienced. I've only ever messed around with boys, not a man. And I'm a virgin." Oh, yes. She's going all the way with your little role play and you get that familiar warm feeling in your cock as the blood starts working it's way south.

"Mmm, I know. I want to make your first time really special. I'm nervous, though; you are so young and beautiful, and I want your first time to be perfect. I rented a suite at an upclass hotel, and sneak you away. When I have you there, I lead you to the bedroom and kiss you. Slowly, at first, I want to take my time with you. We have the whole night." You promise and demonstrate with kisses and licks to her neck and ear, as she picks up the story.

"But I'm impatient. I want you so badly. I'm afraid that you'll change your mind and decide I'm too young again and take me back. So I start pushing off your tux jacket and fumbling with the buttons of your shirt."

You can see her doing that, because in real life you did chicken out of your first date with her for that very reason. But in your fantasy, you have no reservations showing this young girl what it really means to be a woman.

"I take your hand and break our kiss, ' _We have all night, baby. I want to take our time. You only have your first time once. I love you. You deserve it to be perfect, not fast and awkward. There aren't any do overs. Even though I do plan to do you over and over and over tonight,'_ " you tell her sweetly.

Remembering your own first time and how you promised yourself that if you ever took another girl's virginity, you would go slower and make sure she was more physically ready. Not that it was bad for her, but you didn't realize what a difference your size makes until you had other more experienced women talk to you about it. Though you never did have another virgin, you still feel the need to play the part as if it were real.

"I look up at you, and nod, frustrated, but I want everything you are promising me," Allison replies and you continue.

"' _That's a good girl. No, woman. You are definitely a woman in that dress.'_ I tell you and lead you closer to the bed and I sit down and look at you. You step back and turn slowly so I can take everything in. By that time my cock is hard and straining in my pants. I've never seen anyone more beautiful," you tell her honestly, then continue planting kisses on her neck. Your hands wrap around her, hugging her to you as you nibble.

"When I face you again, I smirk at the look on your face. Then my eyes drop to the very predominate bulge in your pants, and I get nervous, because suddenly it seems real and also you are massive compared to anyone else I'd made out with. But I also _really_ want to pull it out and see just how big it is. To feel it and taste it, and I wonder how it will feel when you put it inside me." Slipping a hand behind you, she palms your dick and rubs it gently.

"I put out my hand, and you take it…" Pausing, you realize you've forgotten a very important detail. "Now this is where I need more detailed information from you, what was seventeen year old Allison wearing under that blue dress? Feel free to lie, if you think the answer isn't hot enough for our story."

She leans her head back and kisses the side of your face and tells you in a low sultry tone, "Nearly nothing; just a little black silk thong and stay-up thigh-high nude hose."

You love the mental image. "Goddamn, is a real shame I didn't really get to see that."

"I'm sure it happened in an alternate universe somewhere. And that version of you and me have a couple of kids in middle school by now."

You snort out a laugh, "I hate that me, if that's true. But anyway, I was about to pull you to me and raise my hands up to your shoulders. I place a finger of my right hand, just below your left ear and trail it down your long neck and hook it under the fabric at the shoulder of the dress and start pulling it down your body slowly. As I pull it past your breasts I stop and admire them. They're already hard and I take each into my mouth in turn. I love how you taste, and I want to taste every inch of you." Taking each of her breast in a hand, you give her a demonstration of the care your alternate universe self is taking with young Allison's breasts. Tweaking each nipple and pulling gently until you draw a low moan from the woman between your legs.

"Yeah, and you moan, just like that, and it makes my prick wet. I'm so incredibly hard for you, and my body wants to rip the rest of your clothes off, get inside of you and claim you as mine, but I fight that urge off, and continue to pull your dress off slowly until you are standing in front of me in only your heels, and underwear. ' _Give me a foot.'_ I order you, barely at a whisper, because I can hardly speak I'm so turned on. You place your right foot up first and I remove that shoe. I want to take off your hose, but I also don't want to leave you balancing for too long on one foot in those heels, so I kiss the inside of your thigh, then switch and do the same with your left foot.

"Then I pull you down to my lap and kiss you, and my hands are all over your back and your ass, feeling every inch of soft, smooth skin." with that, you let your right hand travel farther down her body and find her clit and start circling it slowly.

"Oh, that's good, Greg… Just like that. You know how to take care of me," she purrs and moves herself in time with your deft digits.

"I do," you confirm before continuing the tale, "I need your skin on my skin now. So I push you up and order you to lie in the middle of the bed and wait for me. I get up and take my clothes off slowly, as you watch."

"I like what I see. Especially when you are down to your boxers. Your erection is tenting them. I get hot and my stomach is full of butterflies. I want you inside me so much, but I'm also afraid it will hurt or that I will do something stupid or embarrassing or that I don't have enough experience to please you."

"I can see all of that written in the look on your face and try to reassure you, ' _Allison, you are so perfect. I've never had a woman make me feel this good before. I want to make you feel as good as I do right now.'_ I crawl into bed, leaving the boxers on for now, so that you aren't even more overwhelmed."

"I love how you feel when you are on top of me, moving against me, kissing me, touching me. You know exactly what you are doing which makes it easy to trust you completely and follow your lead."

"' _You know that I love you, and I wouldn't hurt you or rush you. I plan on making your body very ready for me…'_ Starting with your legs, I roll those hose off very slowly and nibble on every last inch of your legs. It makes you moan and squirm and insanely wet. I can see it soaking through your thong. I can smell it. I want to taste it. But before that, I need to kiss every last inch of your back, because it was driving me crazy the whole night, watching you dance with those boys. Making me want to pull you into a room and fuck you against a wall from behind and show you what it's like to be with a man."

She's humming and sighing as you tell her your story and stroke her just how you know she likes it best. The water is starting to slosh around you as she starts to move against you. Your erection presses against her back and the wet friction of her movements is delicious.

"I explore every inch of your back, spending some quality time at the base of your neck, because of the way your body reacts to it and all the little moans you make for me. Then down your spine to the curve just above your butt, and lick each of your dimples and nibble on each perfect little ass cheek, until I get to one of my favorite parts of a woman, the little fold where your ass and legs met, that points back up toward your pussy. I follow that line with my tongue until I reach the center."

"Mmm. And my ass raises involuntarily, giving you better access to remove my panites."

"Which I do, then roll you over and spread you open, taking in the sight of your wet pussy. It's throbbing and swollen. Begging me to taste it. So I lower myself between your legs and lick you for the first time."

"Oh, fuck baby. I'm sure that makes me come for you."

"Yeah, it does, but I don't stop. I suck in your clit and fuck it with my lips and you nearly pull out my hair as you scream my name. So I add a finger. You are so tight, I wonder for a moment if I really should take you tonight, or spend a few weeks working you up to my size. But I am too far gone to seriously consider it, and I know that your body will adjust if I just take my time with you." With that you speed up and make her come under your fingers.

"Wanna take this to the bedroom?"

"Not before you tell me how it feels to be inside me for the first time," she tells you before she maneuvers herself, turning to face you and sit over your lap.

"Okay."

The big jacuzzi tub was so far your favorite thing about the new home. It was obviously made with the idea that two people would be sharing it often. Even without the the jets on, it was awesome for the comfort of the design and size alone.

Once she is settled on your lap, you continue. "I spend several minutes fucking you with my fingers, adding one every few minutes until I have all four in. Your body is meeting all my thrusts and you are lost in the sensations, dripping wet and I know you are ready. So, I sit up and take off my underwear."

"When I feel you leave me, I open my eyes, and see your giant cock for the first time and my heart nearly stops. I ask you if I can touch it. You laugh at me and tell me of course I can. I sit up on my knees beside you and put my fingers around it," she takes you in her hand. "It's so hard, and it pulses in my hand. I love how smooth the skin feels as I start to stroke it," demonstrating she continues. "Then you put your hand over mine and show me how you like it for a few strokes before leaning back and leaving me to it," she knows how you like it, but you play along and put your hand around hers and show her. "I love how you look when I touch you. It makes me feel powerful and sexy and loved. ' _Can I taste it?_ ' I ask and your eyes fly open. The look you give me practically burns and I take it as a yes, and lean over and lick the precum off the tip, before slowly taking you into my mouth."

That causes your cock to jump and Allison smirks at her handywork as you continue. "I think I might blow my load, but there is no way I'm telling you to stop. We have all night after all and I have no problems warming you up again later. But I manage to hold on as you start a slow rhythm. Watching my dick disappear between your red lips, and having your lipstick smear over it, has to be the most erotic things I've ever seen. "

"I've given head before, but not with anyone near your size, so I can't take you in all the way yet. So I use my hand to make up the difference and make a mental note that I need to do some research on how to deepthroat," she smiles, and you figure there is some manner of truth to that. She certainly gives the best and deepest blow job you've ever had. It never ceases to impress you or make you blow your load.

"Mmm. I have no doubt that you'll one day be able to give me the best blow job I've ever had. You are very studious," you tease.

"Oh yes, and one thing I learned from band is to practice, practice, practice."

"I'm a willing instrument, you can practice on my skin-flute as much as you need. You take me to the edge, but I decide I need to have sex with you this round, so I ask you to stop."

"I crawl up your body and kiss you. It surprises you, because you'd expected me to shy away from kissing my own come off of your face, but I like the way I taste. Especially on you. That drives you crazy and you kiss me harder, grab my hips and rub my pussy along your shaft." Leaning forward she speaks softly with hot breath against your ear. "' _Please fuck me._ ' I whisper into your ear."

"I growl back. ' _Would you like to be on top or bottom first? Top goes in deeper, but you'll have full control. Bottom, at least in standard missionary, is a little less deep, but I'll have full control and you'll have to give me more feedback so I don't hurt you.'_ "

"' _Top. I want to ride you. I want all of your big cock inside me. I've been told it only hurts for a few seconds, then it feels really good.'_ "

"I nod, and I'm impressed with you as always. I respect that you want to be in control your first time, but I also wonder if you have any clue what you're asking for, because you were really tight. You raise up, I take my cock and align it and tell you to sit down slowly."

Pulling her up your body, you position yourself at her entrance then push her on you slowly, and she starts to ride you. Water splashes over the tub edge, but you don't care. It can be cleaned up later.

She continues the tale, "It's so thick, that at first it seems like it can't go in, but I keep adding pressure until you finally are inside me. It's overwhelming, but in a really great way. It takes a moment, but eventually I sit down on you all the way. I don't move at first, because I need to get used to it, it doesn't hurt per se but it feels like it could if I'm not careful. Yet, I've never felt anything so amazing before, or felt as close to another person before."

"Me either, because you are so tight, and I understand what you are giving me. I wait for what seems like forever, but is probably more like a minute before I tell you, ' _you're gonna to have to move, baby.'_ "

"I nod and raise myself up a few inches then back down. It feels amazing and I move again with a little more speed and confidence."

"I love you so much, watching you ride me. Knowing I'm the man you're going to compare all others to for the rest of your life, while hoping that you never have to. That you'll stop with me. Then I start stroking your clit and I can feel your pussy contract even tighter and it's the most amazing feeling. I want to stay inside you forever," you circle her clit and she moans and squeezes your cock with her hot inner walls.

"I love you too, and suddenly I feel like I need to be under you. I want your body over mine. Possessing me fully. So I tell you ' _I'd like you on top now,'_ and you surprise me by rolling us over before I even know what is going on, and your cock never even leaves my pussy."

"Um, now we are getting into some fantasy," you laugh. Not sure that would really be so easy to make happen, but at least back then you would have had a shot with two good legs.

"Yeah, well might as well make it good. Not to mention, you never put on a condom."

"Like you said, might as well make it good. Anyway… I roll you over and take control. You wrap your legs around me and I pick up the pace, loving how you look at me as I make love to you."

"Oh, that's good, just like that," she cries and you have no idea if she is being herself now or in character and you don't care because you're fucking her, but despite the roominess of the tub, you are tired of the limits it creates.

"C'mon. Let's take this to the new bed. I got sheets on the way home. We can break it in and do this a lot more comfortably."

Sighing she concedes. "I can't believe _you_ just called it ' _making love,_ '" she teases as she gets out of the bath and tosses a couple of towels in the floor to give you footing on the wet tile, before starting to dry herself off.

"It's your first time and I love you. I'm a jerk, but even I know that what I am doing to you is not just fucking."

"But after the first time?"

"Oh, after the deflowering I'm all fucking."

"I like the way you fuck me."

"I know. I'm really good at sex. Oh and I make seventeen year old you come hard and scream my name, and confess your undying love for me _and_ my extra large man-meat, by the way. _And,_ most importantly, I ruin you for all other men." You snap your towel at her ass, causing her to jump and squeal playfully before rolling her eyes at you and continuing to dry herself.

With the mood broken for a moment, you ask her something that has been bugging you since earlier this evening. "So did you invite your parents to visit us, like we talked about?"

"I did, and they gave me the blanket answers why they couldn't. I think Mom really wants to come, but Dad is doing his avoidance thing again."

"Doesn't he have a birthday soon? Maybe they could come out here instead of all of us going to Chicago. The math makes better sense and from what you've told me your father is all about the math."

"It was last weekend and I had to pull favors to get this weekend off to do the move, no way I was getting two weekends in a row without a lot of favors. Gabe's family went out, I went in with him on a gift and called." Her defensive tone speaks volumes; she was likely very happy to have a good excuse to skip the trip.

"Wedding shower slash engagement slash house warming party? It'd be a win win. We get loot from everyone at work, your parents feel obligated to come celebrate your impending nuptials and meet me. I assume your father is the type of guy that despite everything else, would want to at least _meet_ his future son-in-law once before it becomes official."

"Boy, you really know how to wreck the mood. First with the sexual innuendos about Gran and then all this talk of my father. Besides, we don't need a shower. I still have half the 'loot' from my canceled wedding with Robert. It's not like that stuff gets returned when you break it off."

"Yeah, well that doesn't matter. I've never been engaged before, and I don't want to live on Chase's hand me downs any more than I already do," you wink at her to show you are teasing, she smiles at the joke for a second, before looking somber again.

"Greg, please don't push this. I tried to get them here, okay. Just drop it."

Dropping it is not something you do, but you have other methods to reach your goal that don't cause you to miss out on sex in your new bed. So you nod, and drop the topic for now, finish drying off and head for the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Becoming Us: Chapter 5**

Heading back to the master bedroom, Allison grabbed the package of king sheets that were lying on top the mattress. They are a deep red, Egyptian cotton with an insanely high thread count. She pulls them out and tossed the packaging aside as she unfolds them and begins making the bed. Joining her, you grab a corner of the fitted sheet, and help matters along. "Damn, these are soft," she says, as she runs her hands over them to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Yeah, great sheets are important to great christening sex," you quip back as you flop on the bed first and take place in the center of the bed. Your hardon has waned, but it begins to pulse as Allison crawls in over you, kissing her way up your legs, pausing to lick your penis and flirt with it as it pulses and grows again.

"I want to do something special for our first time in _our_ bed, on _our_ sheets in _our_ master bedroom," she tells you between licks. "How would you feel about taking my backdoor virginity tonight?"

Well that's surprising. Sure, you had been messing around with fingers and toys, but you really thought you'd be the one to push for going all the way, once you felt she was ready. It must have been the scenario you just played out that made her think of it, a virginity she could give you. Raising an eyebrow, you question of her seriousness. She raises hers back, followed by a sexy smirk.

 _God, this is so very, fucking, hot._

"I'd say grab the lube and put your stunning little ass in front of my face so I can get you ready." She looks up and smiles at you before she leaves the bed in search of the lube. "I put it and the toys in the top drawer of the dresser. Grab a vibe while you're at it."

A moment later she hands you the lube and the vibe, and gets back on top of you in a 69 position. Her mouth finds your cock again, as you spread her open and lick her folds, teasing her vagina entrance with your tongue. You want to make sure she's as relaxed as possible. After a few low hums from her, you take your mouth from her and squirt a small amount of lube on her anus and spread it all around the outer rim. Your cock falls from your mouth with an "Oh fuck, baby." A little more lube allows you to slowly insert your middle finger.

The way she responds prompts precum to seep from your dick. Greedily, Allison laps it up as you slowly draw your finger in and out, adding lube to make sure things are nice and slick. The last thing you want is for this experience to hurt. Adding a second finger evokes another whimper, but she is able to stay on task and matching her mouth to the rhythm of your fingers.

You continuing working her in this way, adding digits and lube until she can take a fourth finger. "Turn around babe, you're ready," you command with a gentle smack of the ass cheek, and wonder if, like in your tale, she'll want to be on top to maintain control.

It doesn't take long for you to have your answer.

She turns to face you, grabs the lube, then straddles you just behind your cock. Flipping up the cap, she squirts the cold liquid all over your throbbing dick, shocking it for a moment before she begins to stroke with a move she's dubbed the 'perpetual pussy,' in which she only strokes down your shaft, putting hand over hand, giving you the sensation of only pushing in, further and further, deeper and deeper. It's a move no one else had ever done to you, another check in the win column of Allison Cameron's sexual creativity.

"And now you're ready," she informs you in a husky alto as she rises. You grab your dick, help her aim it, knowing with the copious amounts of lube it's going to slip around every direction but in if you don't hold it still.

"I love you," you tell her, without prompt or climax. This special gift she's giving you warnets it. Oh the irony that her giving you her asshole makes you not want to be one for a change.

She lowers herself slowly. From your past experiences, you understand that getting the tip past the sphincter is the most arduous part. Once in, if well lubed and relaxed, the experience will quickly turn from pain to pleasure. Her face contorts for a second as you enter her. She's so fucking tight that you might come on the first downstroke if you don't fight it. She fucks the tip for a second as a final warm up before pushing past the fattest part of your cock, all the way down, enveloping your shaft completely.

Moaning a unison "Fuck" as you adapt to the new sensation, her head tosses back. She looks entirely caught up in the sensation of having you buried deep inside her. "Baby, you're going to need to move soon," you tell her. Her ass is so fucking hot and tight; you need like nothing else to fuck it, but she needs to set the pace for a while before you can do that.

She looks down at you, and smiles at the reference to the story. "Oh god! Fuck yes!" She cries out as she sets a slow and steady pace. You grab the vibe, reach it forward and rub the tip against her clit a few times before turning it on, causing her to rythe.

She leans forward and kisses you as her ass continues to gyrate around you. It gives you the leverage you need to pound upwards into her. The vibe is wedge between you and she rubs herself against it as you push in and out of her. "Your ass is so tight. It feels amazing being inside you like this. Knowing I'm the only man you've given this too." Wrapping your arms around her you pull her tight to your body.

"Allison, I'm going to come soon. It just feels too good. I want you to come too, with me inside your tight little ass. Are you close? Can you do that for me?"

"I can if we switch positions," she informs you.

"'Kay. Get up then, you want to face me or have me behind you?"

"Doggie."

 _That's so hot._ You think as she gets up and you rearrange yourselves with her on all fours. Taking your place behind her, you admire your work. She's wide open now, so lubed up and ready for you to pound her.

You push into her slowly, watching her closely for signs of discomfort, and see none. In upto the hilt, you pull back and push in again with a little more force. It's incredible. Your cock is on fire and the pressure in your balls is building and you pick up the pace. A second later her hand finds the vibrator and presses it hard to her clit as your fucking pushes her forward and closer to the mattress with each thrust. "I'm so close baby, I'm going to come with you fucking my ass, and god, if feels so fucking good."

"Shit, I'm coming too," you grunt out as you see stars and spill yourself deep inside her. As she moans out her climax, you both collapse fully.

"Well, one thing's for sure," she tells you moments later, as you finally roll off of her, spent and sated. "You really have ruined me for other men."

* * *

Work has been strange without Thirteen around. Cuddy has badgered you to replace her time and again, and of course demanding a female to balance the numbers.

Lucas was able to track Thirteen down. It turns out her brother, which you didn't know she had, also suffered from Huntington's and it seems that Thirteen left to help him die. _Good for her_ , you think. It's always bothered you that society frowns on helping the terminally ill to die. As much as you fight most until the bitter end, sometimes the only real cure is death. Sad, but true.

It reminded you of when Allison had to learn that lesson. It went against her grain, but she did it anyway. Did it knowing she would suffer the loss, even though she knew it was right. The two of you have that in common. Doing what's right for a patient even when it hurts you personally. You just handle it differently.

Thirteen had always seemed a little tougher out of the gate than Allison, probably because she knows she's going to lose herself slowly to Huntington's. But even knowing, it can't have been easy to help kill your own brother under any circumstance. She has earned another notch of respect from you.

Knowing what you know now, about why Thirteen left and the time she must serve, has you hesitant to hire a full time replacement, so you evade and stall. Besides, you had a team of three for many years prior to Thirteen. Having a fourth fellow just to have a vagina on the team seems ridiculous.

You do like having the card to play, if and when you choose to play it. You even have an idea of who you'd like to play it on, but it will be too hard a sell to Cuddy. Then again, you were prepared to hire a guy with no medical degree at all if he had won out over the rest. This isn't half the stretch.

But knowing Cuddy, your idea isn't going to work as solution for the short term, but now seems like a good time to at least plant a seed. Plus, you feel like you owe Rebecca and you are nothing if not loyal to those few who manage to worm their way into your orbit. Giving her a little carreer push seems like a good way to repay the debt.

"Gonna eat those?" You ask as you slide into the booth across from Rebecca and take about ten fries and shove them into your mouth, without waiting to hear the answer.

"I was. I suppose I still could, but explaining why I needed my tongue in your mouth to Cameron isn't on my top ten list of things to do. Ever. Although she knows what an ass you are and would probably support the move to reclaim my food. Tyler, however, might have much bigger reservations about it, food or no."

You'd like to make a witty comeback, but your mouth is full, so you spit them back out into your hand and offer them back to her. "If you want them back that bad, here."

"Damn, you must really be a porn star in bed. Because out of it, you are one giant pain in the ass. What do you want House, other than to try and put me off my meal?"

Dropping the mangled fries back on her plate and wiping your hand on your suit jacket, you question her. "I want to know why you never became a doctor."

She gives you a curious look, then shrugs her shoulders and answers. "Well, that is easy. Because I went to nursing school, and last time I checked one doesn't generally become a doctor that way."

"But you have the brains to be a doctor, the attitude. You catch the shitty doctors you work with up in wrong diagnoses a couple of times a day. If you were put off by dealing with patients, or death, or suffering, nursing would be a stupid alternative. You don't seem the overly nurturing type. So why not take the harder path and become a rock star instead of settling to be a stagehand who tunes their guitars?"

"Well, lots of reasons. Time and money being the biggest of them. I was a lazy student in highschool, and my GPA wasn't earning me any scholarships. I had high test scores, but not genius level, so that wasn't going to make up for the lack of a four-point-oh. So going to a University was off the table unless I wanted to take on a massive amount of debt. At the time, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of more school anyway. It bored me.

"But I knew I needed to get some kind of degree to get any kind of decent pay, so I looked around at less expensive options and the local community college tuition was cheap enough to pay off as I went with part time and summer jobs. I could live at home and save money that way as well.

"They were well known for their nursing degree and placed all their graduates with jobs. I really liked science and biology, so I figured what the hell? After the first year, I realised I was good at it, so I stuck with it and ended up becoming an RN."

"And at some point you decided to go back and become an NP, but didn't finish because of your kids."

"Yeah, I got bored again, after a few years in the field and decided to upgrade my degree so I could work at a practice. But then I got pregnant and decided to take time off to stay at home for a while. Then the second kid came along. By the time he was two, I was going stir crazy as a stay at home mom, so we hired a nanny and I came back to work."

"Why didn't you go back to school? Allison told me you didn't have much left."

"Well, at the time we couldn't afford the nanny without me working or the tuition, so it was stay at home and not go back to school, or go back to work and not go back to school. I wanted out of the house, so I went back to work."

"So what's stopping you now?"

"Nothing, I supposed, beyond being okay with my routine these days. I like working in the E.R.. It's so fast paced I can throw my weight around some, do more than I'd be able to in other departments because everyone looks the other way when you're scrambling to save a person's life in a five minute time frame. The whole reason I went back to school, was I felt like a cross between a secretary and a maid in other departments. At least now, I get to use my brain."

"And if I offered you a position on my team if you finished?"

"Doing what? Your clinic hours? Because, thanks but no thanks." When you don't rebut, she continues. "Wait, you're serious. I doubt very seriously that Dr. Cuddy would go for that. Hell, half the doctors in the world already think NPs do too much doctoring as it is. Even if I completed the doctorate of nursing, in the minds of most doctors, and I'd think someone like you especially, I'd just be a fake doctor."

"Of course you'd be a fake doctor and I'd tease you mercilessly over it, but I was prepared to hire a guy who had no kind of medical degree just because I liked how he thinks. You'd be a big step up, actually being to legally perform diagnostic procedures. Come on, you'd get to cheat the system. I have a team of people who can do the things you aren't allowed to do and all I care about is how your mind figures out the puzzle. Who gives as shit that a bunch of idiot MDs think you shouldn't be allowed. That's half the fun."

"It'd be a couple of years before you could even think about hiring me if I did the doctorate instead of the masters."

"Yeah, I know, but I have my reasons not to hire someone permanent to replace Thirteen. So Cuddy will probably force me to take on an intern at some point, which I will pretend I don't want to do, but will eventually 'give into her demand.' That'll stall things for a year or so hopefully, then if Thirteen comes back, I'll have a spot for her, if not, I'll just keep stalling and keep getting interns — you know nothing of this plan or about Thirteen by the way.

"But my point is I'm keeping my options open for the people I know I want and who knows who might decide to fly from the nest in the meantime leaving a spot open."

"If you let them. You have a reputation for being hard to escape from."

"I have historically had a problem with change, but I'm starting to see the benefits. Besides, you'd be way cheaper than a real doctor, so worse case scenario if there are no spots, I bust Cuddy's chops until she lets me add you on. It might take a while, but she'll cave in the end."

Rebecca looks like she doesn't believe a word you're saying. Sighing, you drop your last attempt.

"Look, I don't do nice. I don't do compliments. So think about what that means if I'm having this conversation with you." With that, you stand and leave Rebecca to absorb your conversation.

* * *

The early afternoon passes slowly, but around three o'clock you finally get a case. Patient presented with random idiopathic seizures. Been around the gambit and multiple specialists and still no explanation. You toss out everything the other idiot doctors did the last two years and make your team start again at the beginning, listing all of possible causes on your board:

 _Abnormal levels of sodium or glucose in the blood  
Brain infection, including meningitis  
Brain injury  
Brain tumor  
Congenital brain defects  
Drug abuse  
Electric shock  
Epilepsy  
Fever  
Head injury  
Heart disease  
Heat illness  
Poisoning  
Stroke  
Toxemia of pregnancy  
Toxin buildup in the body due to liver or kidney failure  
Malignant hypertension  
Venomous bites and stings  
Withdrawal_

After some discussion your team is off to spend their evening getting a new patient history so you can start the day tomorrow ruling things out.

By Friday you've ruled out more than half your list but are still left with quite a few options:

 _Drug abuse  
Epilepsy  
Poisoning  
Stroke  
Withdrawal_

Drug related reasons are proving hard to rule out completely. Her tox screen is clean but that doesn't mean she isn't lying about past drug use that might have been a trigger. Nor does it account for all possible environmental factors. Chase is working with the patient and her family to compile all of the places and times she's seized to look for common factors.

There's not much you can do at the hospital, so you go home and spend the evening brewing. Allison knows you well enough that she's giving you a wide berth. You occasionally draw her in, rambling on about the case, but generally has cut her suggestions down with a double dose of sarcasm and that has landed you in the spare bed last night.

 _Guess that means the honeymoon phase is over._ Well, duh, it had to happen sooner or later. Allison is many things, but she is no one's doormat. And you're pretty sure she got a little bit of vengeful enjoyment out of having the power to exile you from your own bedroom after so many years having to endure you having all the power. The fact she was willing to put her foot down is somewhat of a relief, giving her poor track record of being able to say no to you. You did promise all those years ago not to crush her, but to keep it is a two way street, requiring her to sometimes grow a set.

Despite your mood and sharp tongue, she is still hard pressed to resist the lure of a difficult case. So, even though you spent last night in separate beds, you find a new whiteboard in the home office, a new oversized tennis ball that matches the one from your office, and a new set of dry erase markers with a post-it note.

" _I expect equal rights to these, otherwise you know where you can sleep."_

"She would pull the girlfriend card for the markers," you mutter to yourself as you make a copy of your board from the hospital. You didn't see her car when you came home, but the items prove she had to have been home, so she must have run back out to pick up dinner or something. She likely texted you her plans, but your phone died and you are too consumed with the case to deal with charging it right now. And honestly you don't really care where she is at the moment. The puzzle has taken over.

You left the team running a series of tests for Epilepsy. Hopefully, tomorrow they will shed some light on things. She's been through it all before, but you can't trust tests your team didn't run.

Picking up the new ball, you give it a squeeze then toss it to the floor. It bounces from the floor to the wall opposite of you then back toward you and you catch it on the rebound and repeat. It's a zen like process that you cycle through indefinitely as your mind mulls over the puzzle again and again. The sound of the garage door opening and closing barely worms its way into your conscious mind and so you are only mildly surprised when Allison stands in the office doorway a moment later.

"Still no answer," she states flatly.

"Nope. Still entertaining wild theories if you have any." you ask, still tossing the ball, not looking up from the point on that it bounces from the wall.

"How about entertaining some dinner? I picked up from your favorite Indian place."

With the next catch of the ball, you concede to give into a good curry with a curt nod. It can't hurt. Maybe the spice will heat up your brain.

"Thanks" you mutter as she turns and walks away and then follow her to the kitchen.

Dinner is spent in relative silence, both your minds absorbed in the puzzle. Occasionally one or the other of you would start to say something about the case but would nearly as quickly dismiss the thought.

After dinner you lie awake on the bed staring at the ceiling, mind racing, still no closer to an answer. Allison was in the family room on the phone with her brother and sister-in-law. The house is so big, it's easy for you both to have some 'alone time' under one roof. It's nice; to be alone, but not _be_ alone.

You must have drifted to sleep, because next thing you know Allison is rubbing your arm, gently waking you. "Greg, babe, you don't need to sleep in your work clothes."

"Mmmm. Maybe we can sleep with no clothes at all." You say sleepily, as you wrap your arms around her waist and snuggle your face to her lap. Petting your hair, she tells you "You need to sleep babe. You're obviously tired… but first I need to ask you something."

"'Kay. Ask me something," is muttered into her lap, as you refuse to move from your new comfy leg pillow.

"Mariana's mother is not doing well. She's been slowly losing her memory the last few years and now shows all the signs of Alzheimer's. Mariana's brother has been taking care of things, but he's not going to be able to do it full time, and he's asked if Mariana can come help for a few weeks so they can find a more permanent solution. Gabe is going with her since all he needs is an internet connection to do his work. They were wondering if we could keep the boys while they are gone."

Your head cranes around and you raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "Keep, as in stay with us?"

"Yeah. Just for a few weeks," she says as if that is no time at all. But you are sure that two, for all intents and purposes, teenage boys in your care for a few weeks is likely to end in disaster. You have been planning on maybe doing a little babysitting for Rebecca, to get your feet wet and to hopefully show Allison you can find your inner adult when you really try. But this seems like jumping into the deep end before learning how to swim.

"What about school?" You whine, there has to be some way to get out and not let her see the fear in your eyes.

"It's summer break."

Fuck. Of course it is.

"Well then, what do we do with them while we're at work?" You wonder out loud.

"They're 12 and 14, so they can hang at home alone without us lording over them every hour of everyday. I am sure we can find some day camps or something to keep them busy during the weekdays. Hell, they'll probably sleep 'till noon and play videogames until we come home from work. They just need the basics like food, water and a place to sleep." She teases you.

"You make it sound like we're getting pets." You groan as you sit up finally and head for the master bath to take a leak. Allison follows, and continues the conversation from the doorway as you piss. _This used to be the one sure way to get away from her._

"It's just a few weeks. We'd be saving them the hassle of going to Chicago. They both asked for us instead. Jon wants to stay here so he doesn't have to miss his cello lessons, and Tommy wants to stay with us because you are his new hero."

"That kid needs his head examined." You sigh, as you shake and zip up, outwardly looking frustrated by the idea, but inwardly pleased that he likes you.

"Yeah, that's why the two of you get along so well. Birds of a feather." She says and gives you a peck on the check as you wash your hands, then walks back to the bedroom to change for bed.

Calling out to her as you dry your hands, accepting defeat, you concede. "I guess it's fine since they are past the diaper changing stage."

Well, this should be interesting, to say the least.

* * *

 _A/N: Well, I've been struggling with direction on this one, having left quite a few avenues to explore in "His Little Girl." I had a very clear idea of how I wanted to 'fix' season 6. I suppose I never really expected it to go on this far, so it has taken a while to get regrouped. Plus, summer, life, work and all that jazz. But, I feel like I am finding a groove again, even if it doesn't come across in this chapter._

 _I decided to revisit the first story. Having put it away for a while has given me a whole new appreciation of it. And I feel like it is waking my muse back up. Atavares and I are going over the whole thing again for a final polish, and I am going to update it all at some point. No major plot changes, just keep finding little mistakes and it gives me a chance to polish the voice up a little in the first few chapters, since I felt I got much better at the 2nd person thing._

 _Let me know if you are out there, and feel free to give me feed back on things. I'm kind of unsure how this whole sequel is going so far, and if everyone else is too, who knows. Maybe after I reread "His Little Girl" I'll just back up and take a second start on this one, and hopefully feel more connected and in the groove._

 _As always, thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing and following. I know it's been a pain this time around with the slow updates, and I appreciate you for sticking around. And another thank you to atavares for being patient with me and just for being cool in general._


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: So sorry about the lack of warning on the anal last chapter. Oops. Um, I am guessing that if you are offended by it, you've stop reading my stories all together by now. Atavares and I have discussed our need for hashtags. #analobsessed comes to mind. Yeah, pun intended. We are very dirty girls, but I wouldn't have it any other way._

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 6**

"No Allison today? I thought I saw her in the car when you pulled up." Nolan asks you after a long silence, finally giving into your less than talkative mood.

"She had an errand." Informing him simply and evading real discussion seems like a good plan today. Not sure why. He'll likely have some theories to offer.

He pours himself a glass of water and takes a drink, while he observes you in more silence for another few minutes. "Anything you'd like to talk about?"

Obviously not. Of course, at some point, you'll have to give in. Taking a deep breath, another quick evasion is provided.

"There's no crisis if that what you are getting at. She's meeting someone, you're on the way, figured she'd drop me off, consolidate trips. Something about fossil fuel, the ozone, you know her. Always the thoughtful one."

"How's the new place?" Not a bad question, but the impending visitors causes the lump in your stomach to grow and your desire to express your _feelings_ to a near zero.

"Big. Fun. Sort of like my penis, only bigger and funner, _well_ , maybe not funner than my penis. It is generally the life of the party." Sarcasm. It's always a comfort zone.

"New meds working out okay? You should be fully readjusted at this point. If you don't feel more balanced we should make adjustments." Nolan offers, still being very patient with your brooding. But that is the most amazing pattern in the weave of the carpet… How can you not just stare at it? _What was the question? Oh right, meds._

"They're all good. No side effects. I'm always worried that one day some medication is going to knock out Little-Greg, but I guess he's one of those rare penises that seems to be immune to drug side effects. Which is good, because I like drugs and I like sex." That's maybe the most sincere statement of the night. Too bad he'll not see it that way.

"Speaking of drugs, no more relapses?"

That earns him an eye roll, despite being a rather legitimate question. But when you've been good you hate to have to defend. Hell, you hate it when you've been bad too, so don't even try to pull that one as an excuse.

"No. Still opiate _and_ alcohol free. Not even a beer has graced my lips. I've traded vices. Now it's all sex endorphins. Much easier on the stomach."

Finally pushed to frustration, Nolan tosses his notepad down on the coffee table, and lets out a frustrated sigh. "I thought we were past this. If you're going to waste my time, maybe you should just leave."

"Aren't I paying you whether I talk or not?"

"You _know_ the drill House. You talk. I listen, _and_ ask questions, hopeful help you find something meaningful in what you choose to share. If you won't talk, I can't do my job. _Obviously_ there is something on your mind that has you distracted. But I can't help you work through anything when you evade." He's right. Just talk to the man. Just because Allison isn't here to keep you on your best behavior…

You fidget with your cane. Bouncing and spinning it. He sighs. "I was concerned this would happen. You've gotten used to having Allison drive the sessions. Now you are back to having to admit for yourself what you need to work out, or to recognize when you don't really need to work anything out."

"Allison's nephews are coming to live with us for a few weeks. That's where she is. Meeting her brother half-way to pick them up," you finally admit, and prepare for the interrogation.

"You're not used to being responsible for children." That's putting it mildly.

"Other than my team, no." You joke, but his look makes you try to be more serious, "It's not like they are going to need much. According to Allison they are 'in the nice groove between being overly dependant, and full-of-hormone-pains-in-ass.' I have my doubts."

He snickers at your reaction. "I'd think you'd get along great with kids. They're so much closer to your maturity level."

"Ha!" Letting out a snort of a fake laugh you point your finger at him and shake it excitedly, "You should go into comedy. This whole shrink thing is a bullshit job anyway." Fake smiling and shaking your head, with an 'Oh you' look.

Regaining a serious tone, "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to act, beyond assuming that my normal way of acting is more than likely not a good idea," you confess.

"Why is that?"

"Um, did you hit your head? I'm abrasive, rude, blunt, I curse a lot, make fun of people, sexual harass women and occasionally men, I make racist jokes, my mind is constantly in the gutter, along with my mouth. Pretty much all the things you don't want to teach your teenage boy to do, is a major facet of my personality. I love the fact that kids tend to say what they think, because I always say what I am thinking. It's refreshing, but also not a trait that most other adults seem to encourage. I'm less afraid that they won't like me, than they _will_ like me, and then Allison will realize that I'm a shit choice for a husband and father."

"Ah, so this _is_ about Allison." He sits back with a look of the cat who ate the canary.

Of course it's about Allison. Things are working with her in the picture. You want to keep her in the picture. You'll do just about anything to make that happen. _That's_ the problem.

"I need her. I want to give her what she wants, but I am afraid that when I do, that will be the reason she ends up leaving me. Oh, she finds my snark endearing now, when it's all sex and fun. But once she expects me to grow up and mold our spawn, she's going to find I fall short of her idyllic image of me, figure she's only half as screwed if they only have genetics against them and not environment too."

"Do you want children?" He wastes no time getting to the heart of the issue, as he sits back and folds his hands behind his head.

"I like the idea of it—making babies with Allison. Before the infarction I was starting to think about whether or not Stacy and I would change our minds about that. We were pretty anti-kid in the beginning, but after a few years we'd find ourselves saying the random comment about 'if we have kids' this or that. Never actually had a serious discussion about it. But I had started to think about marriage and whether or not I was ready to have a family a few months before things started falling apart."

That is a huge admission for you. Hopefully, he sees that. Pausing for a moment, you think a little more about the question and the random thoughts you've been having for the last month or so, since the scare.

"I think Allison and my kids would be smart, hopefully will inherit her looks, and that Allison will be great at being a mommy. I don't know what it means to have a good relationship with a father, so I am not sure if I'll know how to be a good dad. I'm afraid of not feeling differently about them then I do any other random kid and that because of that I'll fuck them up as much as my father fucked me up."

"The fact that you care if that happens says something."

"It says that I am not an idiot. But if all life took was being smart, you and I wouldn't have to meet every week."

"But you seem comfortable with the idea of you and Allison starting a family."

"Seems like my last shot at it. We had a mild scare just after my bad night—she forgot her pill the day before—I didn't feel overwhelming dread. Rationally, I knew the chances were low. But I deal with edge-cases on a regular basis, so a chance is a chance. Part of me starting thinking it might be cool if she was. That she'd be far less likely to leave me if I had knocked her up. _And_ that she'd be really hot, _really_ pregnant." Waggling your eyebrows at the last statement, actually earns a small laugh from him.

"I take it, she wasn't."

"No. Like I said, really low chance. After her period came, I felt a little bad about it. It confirmed that I _do_ actually want kids with her. I'd thought about it, before that. I knew it was something she wanted. It seemed like something I might be able to consider again. Then, after being forced to come to terms with the idea it might really happen, I was fine with it, more than fine. I think it freaked Wilson out more than either of us that I was okay with it and I was surprised as anyone.

"But since then, I keep getting these little freak out moments that she's going to wake up and realize she's crazy for being with me. I am the definition of relationship disaster. I start wondering if that is something to subject a kid to. On the other hand, I wonder if people are right when they say having a kid changes you. I'd never believed it before, but just the possibility of Allison being knocked-up made me feel like maybe I'm wrong. Normally, I hate being wrong but I would be okay being wrong about that now."

"I think you're going to be fine. Unconventional, definitely. But I think they'll turn out okay… With minimal therapy." He winks at you.

"I'll make sure to call you to schedule as soon as they start talking."

* * *

Well, sometimes your team still surprises you. Chase was the winner this particular go around. Turns out the patient's seemingly random seizures were triggered by a specific song, even more specific than that, a specific recording of a specific song. Whitney Houston's _I Will Always Love You_ , from the Bodyguard soundtrack.

Yeah.

Like that was going to randomly pop in your head as a reason.

"So apparently, Chase is in the room, prepping the patient for another battery of tests. The T.V. is on, but it's muted. Nurse Jan looks up, and is like 'Oh, God! I love this movie,'" clasping your hands under your chest, and looking up to the ceiling you sigh a dreamy mock sigh, "unmutes the tube right in the middle of the song. Even starts singing along as she's working, a few seconds latter, patient starts seizing. Chase, actually uses his brain, puts it together. Starts working the history, and sure enough the patient starts making the connection to the song. They do a test, confirm, and release her. Now the fun part for her is figuring out how the hell to avoid random exposure."

"That's crazy… That, _really sucks_." Wilson says, before he takes a bite of his salad. His eyes losing focus as he thinks.

"Fucking-a it does. But it could be worse. She could seize to The Beatles, or The Stones." You take a bite of your reuben and wonder "What the hell is up with the rabbit food? I was hoping for some fries."

"Pretty sure you could have ordered some."

"Yeah, but they are never as good as eating yours."

"Sam and I are going to her nephew's wedding this weekend. My tux was a little tight."

"God, you are such a fucking girl." Rolling your eyes, you take another bite and continue conversation with your mouth full. "So you still on for tonight? We're making pizzas and playing Grand Theft Auto. I promised Tommy he could pick up a prostitute just so he could tell his friends he'd done it."

"Does Allison know you let him do that?"

"I assume she's just taking the 'don't ask, don't tell' stance concerning video games, movies and porn."

"You _do not_ watch porn with them!"

"No, but God, it's so funny when you make that face." It really is. _Oh, Wilson, some days you are still so gullible_. "I moved my stash into the gun safe, along with the sex toys, I am sure much to Tommy's disappointment. I'm pretty sure that with the internet, such as it is, they don't need my help, anyway. I assume their father has ways of blocking that sort of thing at their house, so our open internet is most likely increasing the amount of socks we have to launder these days. And, I don't think Jon and I share the same taste in porn anyway."

Wilson gives you a confused look for a moment before, the realization hits him. "You think he's…"

"A puff. A fag. Queer. Playing for the other team. Light in the loafers. In the closet. A future bum chum." You chatter off with a wicked grin, before being a little more serious. "In other words, he's gay. He just hasn't admitted to anyone, at least anyone in his family. But, I notice things, like how he looks at the barista at that little coffee shop on Elm. Totally wants to be that guy's chickenhawk."

"So, does his family suspect?"

"Yeah. Allison says they've assumed as much since he was five or six. But they have no idea what the procedure is for asking him about it. They're pretty sure, but they worry if they are wrong asking him will freak him out. Their gay friends tell them he'll talk when he's ready. He's going to an arts school for high school. There's an open gay community and all that. So they figure he'll come out at some point in the near future. Because he'll want to date soon."

"So they are okay with it?"

"Yeah. They have no problem with it at all, other than not knowing how to broach the subject. According to Allison, Mariana is actually excited. She thought she was going to get to miss out on getting to talk about cute boys when they didn't have a daughter."

"And Tommy?"

"I haven't decided. He loves to bring up that he's made it to more bases than his older brother, just because he's made it to _a_ base. I can't decide if it's his way of trying to push Jon to come out, or just to push Jon's buttons. Good chance it could be both. The kid's smart and he's a jerk."

"You two must really get along." You stick your tongue out at him for that one. "So things are going okay so far then?"

"Well, we are getting close to" glancing at your watch, "48 hours without a major incident. Today is the big test. They're home alone for the day. If there isn't a fire, and no one ends up here in an ambulance, I'd say that's a good sign. Allison took a double without giving me _much_ of a lecture, so that is a positive sign she doesn't think I'll kill them. And you _are_ coming over tonight, so maybe I won't kill them since we'll have an adult around."

Wilson nods, and shakes his head with a little chuckle as he resumes eating. A few moments pass as you both consume your lunch, then you decide to get Wilson's take on something you've been considering for most of the morning.

"I was thinkin' about inviting Chase. Is that crazy? I got the feeling they really like him, and maybe they'd like to hang out with him. I'd be weird with Allison around, but I thought that maybe with her at work… He hasn't hung out with us in a while either. Might be a good night for male bonding all 'round. He did solve the case. Even if it was a freak accident."

"He's juggling three or four girlfriends right now. Think he'll have the time?" Wilson reminds you with a wicked grin. Chase has apparently come to terms with his role as boy-toy.

"Ehh, that's just rebound sex. Besides if he loses one, he has backups. Hell, he probably hasn't worked through the whole stack of numbers he got from speed dating yet either. That blond I saw him with a couple of weeks ago, man, she was smokin' hot. He's been much more relaxed and even almost starting to not suck completely at his job. Maybe he just needed to have the idiot fucked out of him by a string of random women. Of course the big test is will this new chick he's hired work out or not."

Wilson raises an eyebrow and nods as he chews. "So I've been meaning to ask you, but you've been so busy with the move and everything thing else. What's going on with your bio dad?"

"Well, other than hanging out on his widow's mantle, not much."

"Oh. That sucks. So you looked him up then?"

"Did a google search. Found some cool articles and interviews, his obit and a handful of videos on YouTube. Seems like he was a cool guy. Total badass jazz guitarist. Too bad my mother and father decided not to tell me about him until it was too late to do anything about it."

"Ah, House, man, I'm sorry to hear it. What about other family?"

"His obit mentioned 12 known children by 12 different women, none of which were his wife. I got that last bit of info from reading the comments folks left on some of the YouTube videos. Apparently, he was one of those deadbeat dads that everyone loved anyway, because all these women were itching to put a notch on their bedpost for him. Seven brothers and five sisters. I'll be 13 if I make contact. Wonder if Thirteen minds sharing the name?"

" _Are_ you going to make contact?"

"Allison seems to think I should. I kind of plan on using it as leverage to get her to deal with her own daddy-issues. Since my dear old Dad is dead, I don't see what the big hurry is now. Mom was right, I do look a bit like him. I saw a picture of an older brother, it was kind of surreal. We look a whole lot alike."

Grabbing your iPhone, you pull up the image you'd bookmarked and handed it to Wilson. "Damn, he does look like your brother." Taking it back, you pull up the video you'd bookmarked as well, and handed it back to Wilson to watch. "This is from a couple years after I was born. He was with the same big band as when Mom met him. This was one of his features."

Willson watches the video and, as it plays, your mind sings along with every note. You've listened to it enough to have it memorized; you're halfway to being able to play it on your guitar. He was obviously a self-taught player because he uses his left thumb for chording and playing lines. It's maddening to mimic without it, and hard to figure out with it, since no one in their right mind learns to play guitar that way. On top of that, he could rip of these insane bebop lines that you are still about 50 clicks on the metronome away from being able to play with the recording. His style was a crazy hybrid of hillbilly meets jazz. He was clearly brilliant.

It sucks.

You felt an immediate connection with him through this video.

His interviews, all written, gave you the impression that he was intelligent, but not necessarily well educated. He had a good sense of humor and was charismatic. He was a prodigy on guitar, playing professional gigs even as a kid, but because he was from the middle of nowhere Indiana, he wasn't 'discovered' by a nationally known act until he was 30. After that, he toured the world with various well known jazz bands as a sideman for twenty years before settling down back in the midwest as a sort of hometown hero. He was known well enough for you to get the broad strokes from the internet, but not so much that his life was documented in great detail.

He apparently married in his early 50s and was with his wife until he died at 74 from cirrhosis of the liver. From what you gather, the man enjoyed drinking. Most likely a little too much. Probably had other vices too. Most musicians do.

"Wow. He's amazing!" Wilson exclaims about halfway through the song.

"Yeah. He was," you agree.

He had recorded a few albums on a mid-sized jazz label that folded in the early 90s. You found a discography on Wikipedia, but couldn't find any place that still had them in stock. Someone ripped one of them and posted the whole thing on YouTube, so you converted it to mp3 and loaded it on your iPhone.

It put you at an emotional extreme the first time you listened to it.

His playing was beautiful, witty, full of personality to the point you felt like you knew who he was just from listening. The strange combination of his very early years playing bluegrass colored the way he approached traditional jazz. It was like jazz with an accent. His take on the language was organic, not just someone parroting it in an academic way.

To know that this guy gave you the genetic gift of music, even if it was only a sliver of what he had, made you very happy. It also made you feel cheated. Pained. Pissed. You wouldn't expect Connor to have been a 'father' to you, but it would have been nice for your parents to afford you the opportunity to at least know the guy. At least your mother could have let you know.

It was hard to blame Connor for much. His penis was apparently in high demand. He was never described, then again you don't have a great deal of information, as a womaniser or a deadbeat. He was a man. Women came to him. He was happy to service them. They didn't seem to expect more from him than that. 12 bastards found him and liked him enough to be listed as surviving children on his obit.

Maybe another call to Lucas is in order. Find out all you can about the wife, and the siblings. Don't want to get into a sticky situation with crazy relatives. That is one nice thing about your current family situation. Not many of them, and none very interested in you.

Allison is all for at least talking to the wife. Getting a few pictures, maybe she'd have extra copies of his records. She could tell you about what kind of person he really was. Maybe you could even play his guitar.

If she pans out with Lucas, you'll agree. And, as you told Wilson, it does give you a bit of a bargaining chip with her and her dad. You are very close to calling her mother. Hell, maybe Lucas could cut you a two-for-one deal and get all the dirt. This whole situation is ridiculous. If she wants so badly to meet your bio family, a few things are going to have to give with hers. In a game of stubborn, she doesn't stand a chance with you. You fucking invented that game.

* * *

"I thought you said you wiped the floor with Uncle Robert." Tommy laughs, as you lose yet again. God that is annoying.

"I guess I've been to busy doing _other stuff_ lately to keep up my chops." Insert dig about Allison using your joystick too much for you to practice PS3. Oh, yeah, can't do that with the kids around. And why is he still Uncle Chase and you are just House? Oh yeah, that's what you asked them to call you. Well, Tommy anyway. Jon still seems to prefer Mr. Greg.

 _Wonder if I should have them start calling me Uncle Greg?_ At some point in the near future it should be official. Maybe you should wait until then. Obviously, the early title didn't do much to increase Chase's chances of making it official. Probably should ask Allison.

"I guess if I had that kind of 'other stuff' to do, I'd play video games less too." Tommy jokes back, as you stand to give your seat to Jon and Wilson for the next round. He really is getting worse. Or just knows you well enough now to have figured out you don't really mind if he talks that way.

You sit beside him on the arm of the flanking side chair and smack the back of his head playfully. "Hey, she's your aunt. Have a little bit of respect and be more grossed out that she has sex." It is quickly becoming a hopeless battle to keep up appearances between the two of you.

"Ugg, when you put it like that… I normally like to conveniently ignore the fact that the chick you are doing is my aunt."

"Jesus, Tommy! You've gotten blunt this last year." Chase says as he gets up to grab a beer, another slice of pizza.

"He's started french kissing girls," you inform Chase, with a sing-song voice.

"Oh… Really." Chase laughs.

"A girl. He's kissed _one_ girl. And she's finally figured out what a doosh he is and dumped him." Jon chimes in, as he picks up a controller and restarts the game.

"Yeah, well that's one more girl than you _Big-brother_." Tommy rebuts.

Jon rolls his eyes as he focuses on the screen. "Not all of us are obsessed with girls."

Well, he said that like an obvious admission. Hopefully Wilson doesn't try to turn that comment into an afterschool special.

Good, he's far too into the game. Ah, he's so animated. He turns the controller like a steering wheel, as if that does anything. It's nearly as adorable as watching your mother play.

"Anybody else want anything while I'm here?" Chase calls from the kitchen.

Wilson calls back, "I'll have a beer."

"House?"

 _Yes. A beer would be lovely, but_ "Any more of that red cream soda?"

"Yep." He grabs the drinks and passes them out before grabbing another slice of pizza and eating it sans plate as he leans against the bar separating the family room and kitchen.

"This is a really great place House." He tells you sincerely between bites. "As weird as it is, I'm happy it's working out for you. Both of you, really. You're only about 80% as much of a pain in the ass. For you that's like a miracle."

"Well, great sex and all that."

"Uh, come on." Jon groans. "At least be a half normal adult and pretend you think we don't know you guys do that. I mean she _is_ our aunt. And you _are_ really old."

 _Oh, fuck that burns!_ Soda ends up in your nose, because you snorted out a laugh while drinking. "Now, that I didn't expect from Jon. Tommy, sure, but you are supposed to be the nice one."

"I am nice. But that doesn't mean I have to be a pushover. I get more than enough unwanted imagery from Tommy. And it's just weird that you'd say that to Uncle Robert. It makes Aunt Allison seem slutty, and comes off like you don't respect her."

"I respect her. And I also enjoy having sex with her. There is nothing bad about two consenting adults liking and having sex. There is nothing slutty about it, at least the _bad_ kind of slutty. Chase and Allison were apart for nearly a year before we got together. Before that, I know _Uncle_ Robert and she enjoyed sex. Yes, it is kind of weird that he's hanging out with his boss who is living with his ex but weird seems to be what we do. So, we can either act like apes and fight over territory, or we can just get over it and embrace the odd."

"Yeah. If you can't embrace odd, you'll never be able to deal with House. If he didn't rub my face in it a little, that would mean something really bad was about to happen. This is him being normal for him. And, for whatever reason, Aunt Allison likes his brand of weird." Chase adds and you nod to him. Then look back to Jon, who is still wiping the floor with Wilson as he talks.

"Just try to keep it down at least. Last night I had to put in my earplugs. There are some things a kid doesn't need to know about their aunt." Now you are fairly certain he is using the topic to through off Wilson. Fucking brilliant move. God, you hope your kids get those instincts.

"Wow." Wilson shakes his head as he puts down the controller, having lost yet again.

"What?" You and Jon ask in unison. Then smirk at one another. He's finally warming up to you. He's a very likable kid. Smart. Funny. Dry sense of humor. Good timing. A typical introvert, who seems shy or unfriendly on the surface but, once comfortable in a social situation, is very open.

"I can't believe this conversation is happening." Wilson clarifies.

"Oh com'on Wilson," you admonish, "you remember being 14. He isn't an idiot and you know I don't abide by the social contract. Both of us pretending we don't know what sex is is ridiculous."

"Yeah, well what ever happened to 'everybody lies?'"

"I like to save that for the really special occasions," you say as you walk to the bar and grab another slice of pizza and take a couple of bites as Chase and Jon pair up for the final. It's an exciting round, Jon nearly takes him, but Chase pulls out in the end and champions the night. You'd kinda thought he'd be the kind of guy to let a kid win. But apparently not.

Jon is a good sport about it and Chase ruffles Jon's hair when Jon offers him a hand shake. Then they proceed to wrestle playfully. Obviously, you were right about them missing Chase. Especially Jon. Then again, Jon probably has a crush on him.

Tommy walks up and grabs another slice for himself, then climbs on a bar stool and spins around as he inhales the food at a record speed. "So, what happened with Allisa or Amy?" You ask.

"Angie. She went to band camp. Dumped me for a drummer. He's a junior," he explains, still spinning back and forth then all the way around.

"This is exactly why you need to learn to play guitar and or sing lead vocals. Mick Jagger never gets dumped for Charlie Watts." Nevermind that Watts was the one that didn't party and had a wife. Story sounds better without that boring detail. Tommy grabs the edge of the counter and stops his rotation, shrugs at you and takes another bite.

"You don't seem that torn up about it."

"Na," looking into the kitchen and nothing in particular, he continues seriously. "I was for a couple of days. But then I realised she was too young for me anyway. I need a woman. Someone who can teach me what women want." He was serious; it's cute and hysterical. It doesn't help that his voice is starting to change so everything he says is sort of funny by default.

"Wow." Wilson says again shaking his head in disbelief. Boy, he might have a breakdown by the end of the night. You and Chase both let out big belly laughs. Wonder if Tommy's hot for teacher now or something?

"If I would have know the about of shock value I'd get from Wilson out of this whole nephew thing, I'd have had you guys over way sooner. It's fantastic!"

"He's 12!" Wilson defends throwing his arm out towards Tommy to make the point'

"Hey, I'm in the room you know." Tommy banters back. "Who's Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts?"

"Seriously?! The Rolling Stones?" You gasp, incredulously.

He shakes his head at you and you bury your face in your hand. "My god what is this world coming to? The Stones are only THE BEST rock-n-roll band… Ever."

While you sit there in shock, planning your fix for this completely unacceptable situation, Jon gets a really wicked grin. "He's had the hots for that Lisa lady since your birthday party. Managed to snap some pics of her while the two of you were being weird."

Tommy's eyes get big and he tilts his head to the side and death stares his brother. _Oh, that is so excellent!_ You slap him on the back with a big smile plastered on your face. "Now she _is_ a hot woman. But, trust me on this, she'd break you. Chew you up in little pieces and spit you back out. You ever see Wild Kingdom? Those insects that rip their partner's heads off after copulating?"

"And she's like Mom's age," Jon adds.

"Yeah, well House could be Aunt Allison's dad. Age doesn't matter if you really like each other."

"Well, kid, good luck with your cougar hunt. Let me know how it turns out."

* * *

Allison gets in just after 1:00 to find you still awake, reading in bed. "How'd it go?" She asks softly, knowing the boys are in bed.

Looking up, you crack a half smile at the site of her stripping and tossing her clothes in the hamper. She looks back and gives you that look she has for when you wear your readers. She thinks they give you that sexy college professor look, so, even though they distort her image because of the distance, you leave them on just because you hope she still has the energy to show you just how sexy she thinks you look in them. Sadly, you think at some point in the near future, you might benefit from wearing them when you eat pussy. Hopefully, she'll still think it's sexy then.

"Well… Wilson still sucks at videogames. Jon has started acting pretty normal around me. I think inviting Chase over really helped. It was only slightly weird. Jon has started dropping hints, beyond his sublet glances at Chase's ass, that he might not like girls and Tommy was dumped, as I predicted, for an older guy Angie met at band camp. Drummer. But he is okay with that because he's decided that he wants to hunt cougar. One particular cougar, by the name of Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

Sauntering over to the bed, in nothing but her practical cotton underwear, gives you hope for some late night lovin'. Crawling into bed and over your body, she straddles your lap. "He's got the hots for Cuddy? When the hell did that happen?" She laughs, not a bit shocked or surprised.

"Apparently at my birthday party. While we were doing damage control, he was snapping pics of her with his phone for the ol' spank bank."

"That is just… Disturbing." She shakes her head, attempting to erase the image from her mind.

"Well, she does have great _ass-_ sets. Can't blame the kid for having eyes and a heterosexual penis." She rolls her eyes, then rolls her hips and you thrust against her through your pajama pants and her little black cotton panties. "What's actually disturbing is him not knowing who Mick Jagger is or any clue about The Stones. Jesus, kids these days! Anyway, says that he's done with girls. He needs a woman to teach him."

"Must be my father's genes. I'm glad it went well _and_ I think you deserve an award for your first official round of uncle duty." Bending down she kisses you. You kiss her back and pull her to you, then roll you both over and start nibbling on her ear. "It bothered me a little that they still call Chase 'Uncle Robert.'"

"Well, I doubt they'll stop calling Robert that; he's been that from before we were even dating. Do you _want_ them to call you Uncle Greg or Uncle House?"

"Maybe. I never really thought about it until tonight. I never liked the titling as a kid, probably because my parents insisted on it. I keep telling Jon 'just House is fine'. But he thinks it's weird that we all go by our last names and Mariana's brainwashed the 'mister' into him so I don't think he is comfortable with just Greg either. At least he doesn't use 'doctor.'

"Do _you_ think they should call me Uncle Greg?"

"Kind of has a nice ring to it." She tells you, as you work your way down to her breasts and free them from their prison, tossing her bar across the room before latching onto a tit. "God, damn, Uncle Greg. That feels good."

Well, now you know you like it when she calls you Uncle Greg. And no, you perv, she's not using it in that way. Dirty uncle has never been on your role-play list.

"It's funny. I always figured Wilson would be the one to make me an uncle. But I have to say that getting into Aunt Allison's pants to earn the title is a much better way. Speaking of, let's get these off." Pulling on her panties causes her to lift her ass and you slide them off and shoot them like a rubberband across the room. "Fuck, you smell good."

"So do you. Take your clothes off Uncle Greg. Aunt Allison wants to suck your cock."

No need to ask twice. The glasses get tossed to the side table. You grab your shirt hem and have it over your head in a second. Flopping on your back you make short work of your pajama pants and jockeys. "Turn around and sit on my face," you command.

A moment later she settles in on top of you and you both go to work. She really loves to give oral as much as you do. She might like 69 more than any other partner you've had. No complaints here. Her clit grinds your chin as you lick her entrance. You feast on her for a while until the things she is doing with her own mouth are far too distracting. Lifting your head back, you moan her name. Your fingers slip inside her for a few moments and, once well lubricated, you move them to her rear entrance, push in and add your other hand and slip in three fingers back into her pussy, then slide your thumb up to circle her clit.

She hums and you can feel it in your balls. Your whole body is buzzing. "Fuck baby that's it. Just like that." You say lowly, remembering Jon's comment. You're not ready to traumatize the kid just yet, and definitely not in this way.

You're close, so you pick up the pace with both your hands, she pushes against you. She's close too. "Allison, I'm going to come."

She stops then, much to your surprise and squeezes on the base of your penis, to stay off your climax. You can't exactly see what she is up to, but then she lifts your balls and a wet digit finds its way between your cheeks and presses gently against your anus. "Ooooh, fuck yeah baby," you encourage as she slowly penetrates you then resumes sucking.

A few seconds later you spill yourself into her mouth, and pause your movements as your orgasm overtakes your body. A moment later she is moving away from your hands. Turning she sits on your face properly and takes hold of the headboard. "My turn," she informs you.

Teasing her, you act disinterested, "Pretty sure once the man ejaculates that means sex is over."

"Only if the man doesn't want sex with that woman again. Now show me what your tongue is really good for, because talking is not its best talent."

"You mean like this?" You lick the length of her, then flick your tongue quickly side to side over her clit.

"Mmmmmm," she agrees.

"Or maybe you meant this?" Sucking the engorged flesh into your mouth causes her to cry out, and her arm flies up to her mouth as she stifles her next scream as you drive her over the edge.

Her body shakes around your head and her pussy thrusts against your mouth wildly. You will never tire of making her come.

She crawls back down your body and kisses you, before getting up to head to the bathroom. Following, you take your place beside her at your sink as you both wash up and brush your teeth for bed.

Heading back, you both turn down the bed. She climbs back in naked, and lies on her side; you smile the sight of her pulling the sheet up to cover her before turning out the light and joining her under the sheet, snuggling up behind her.

"Love you, Greg. G'night."

"Night, Al. Love you too."

"Greg, baby…"

"Yeah."

"Don't call me Al."

"I thought that was what family calls you."

"I'm tired. I'll explain later. 'Kay?"

"Ya know, now it's going to be impossible for me to call you anything but Al."

"Yeah, but you can't blame a girl for trying. Go to sleep _House_."

"Not going to work, _Al_. It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that adorable little tutu I found?" You snuggle her closer to you as you feel her body stiffen at the mention of it.

Alison sighs,"I'm going to sleep now. Unless you want to talk to me about that time you were a cheerleader."

 _Shit._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: So here's another chapter for y'all. We've got a_ _ **trigger warning for conflict on sexuality and gender**_ _. Hopefully it's not too angsty, but just in case we wanted to give a heads up. Thanks to atavares for thinking to add the warning. I've been less good with my warnings and notes of late._

 _Here there also be spoilers for 7,04 Massage Therapy, although there isn't any paid massage in this one, but the new hire bits are all really fun with the Cameron slant, so I'll be borrowing those and some dialog._

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 7**

Today was going to be fun. Today is the day you meet Chase's pick for your team. It almost made you want to come in early. Almost. You did wake up early. Allison did one of her rare cooking mornings and made breakfast. Not that anyone but you was up to eat it. With no adult intervention, both of the boys would sleep 'til noon. Hell, those two kids could sleep through the zombie apocalypse.

Not that this bothered you in the least. In fact, you are starting to realize that if you really want sexy time with Allison, without wondering if the boys are listening in, the early morning was the time. Now, as you stand in the doorway of your workout room, sipping coffee, silently observing the glory that is Allison Cameron's ass, while on her hands and knees, in an upward cat pose, you are extremely glad that teenage boys are not prone to early morning workouts.

"Ah! Jesus, Greg, you scared the shit out of me." She yelps as you rub against her playfully after successfully crawling up behind her without detection.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," you tease, as you slide a hand around her and down the front of her yoga pants.

"Dammit, Greg. I need to finish my workout and you need to start yours."

"What do you think I'm doing?" You purr in her ear as you start to stroke her.

" _Not_ working out. The door is open."

"They sleep like the dead in the morning."

"Until they don't. Let's not traumatise them anymore than we already do." She pulls your hand from her pants.

"Spoilsport. Can we send them back? I miss naked breakfast," you pout.

"Don't you have a new piece of lobby art to torture today?"

Grabbing her by the hips, you continue to thrust against her, enjoying the sensation through your loose pajama pants, which have plenty of room for Little Greg to express his appreciation. "And what makes you think she's going to be hot?"

She smirks back at you incredulously, knowing you know better, then stands up, leaving you on your knees.

"You and Thirteen have set a pretty high bar. I wasn't sure the bar could be higher than you, but then Thirteen had the genetic gift of hot _and_ had sex with both boys and girls."

"And she's good at it too," she winks at you.

"Now that kind of talk is not going to help your cause," you grab her with a growl, as she tries to walk past you and pull her back down to the floor, but she is stronger than she looks, and turns the tables on you rather quickly, pinning you to the floor beneath her. Not that you are trying that hard to escape.

"I am not having sex with you this morning. I can't be late again today. I have too much going on with the transition."

"You used to be so addicted to my cock." You thrust up to her playfully.

She leans in and her lips graze your ear playfully, giving you hope until she whispers "Overexposure."

All you get is a peck on the scruff of your cheek as she raises up, leaving you calling to her in mock horror. "Blasphemy! Remember my age. You need to get the dicking while the dick is still good."

"They have a pill for that." She states simply as she turns to exit the room.

"Think you could handle an erection lasting for more than four hours?" You ask sarcastically as she walks out of the room.

Calling back over her shoulder she replies, "If I can't, I am sure Wilson can."

* * *

Chase did not disappoint in the lobby art department, you think with a smile, as you enter the DDX room from the hall. "I get it. You're jealous of my new cane, so you hired a new doctor that you could lean on."

"Exactly. Nothing to do with the fact that you instructed me to hire one. Dr. House, this is Dr. Kelly Benedict, your new fellow." He introduces with enthusiasm. Like he doesn't know how much you love enthusiasm…

She stands and offers her hand, which you ignore because, that's what you do. She'll learn. Or maybe she won't. Doubtful, you'll go three for three with really smart hard working sexy female doctors, and if you do, it is going to wreak havok your theory that no one works harder than they have to.

"Nice to meet you," she says nervously, as she drops her hand and waivers under your scrutiny. "Um, I just finished my psychiatry residency at St. Jude's. And I loved studying the mind, but I thought I could make more of a difference, or at least —"

"Man, you're hot. I mean, seriously," you tell her with a bemused grin. Allison called it. Not that you had any other idea. Poor Chase, it is rather hard to concentrate during an interview while semi-hard.

Foreman interrupts, "30-year-old female…" and waves blue file folder.

You don't take the bait, you are hazing. Can't he see that? "I know what you're thinking. She looks like Cameron, and he's hired her solely to sleep with her." She doesn't really look anything like Allison, save the blond hair. But it's fun to say it and see what happens.

"No, none of us were thinking that," Taub drones.

"Well, you should have. But you'd be foolishly wrong. Yes," you turn toward your office, take off your backpack and toss it to your chair as you talk "he's been dating at a near-Clooney pace recently, but at this point," you turn back to them again, "the only hole he's trying to fill is the one in his soul, which means it's the emotional connection with Cameron that he misses." Getting right back in her face you probe, "Did you ever marry a dying man? And if so, did you freeze his sperm?"

Man, that was a good one, and you wasted it without Allison even being in the room. Chase will probably tell her though and maybe she can arrest you for it later. _Wonder if Wilson and Sam would like to kid sit for a night..._

New Girl chimes in, "Okay, so Cameron's his ex. But sperm…" she asks with a confused look.

"She's not like Cameron. Jesus, House she's your…" Chase defends and almost spills the beans to the new chick, but you interrupt.

Too much fun to stop now, "Then why'd you make her wear Cameron's clothes?"

She looks down at her dress and states "No, I'm wearing my own clothes," still very confused. Boy, she's not going to last long. You aren't even trying. Allison and Thirteen were made of much tougher stuff, even in the very beginning. Actually, it wasn't until after about six months in, when Allison got it in her head she wanted to actually _date_ you, that she became an overly easy target.

You really are a bastard. Then again, it seemed to be working out as a positive thing all around.

Foreman tries again to right the ship, "30-year-old female. Severe vomiting and abdominal pain preceded by three days of moderate pain. Slightly elevated LFTs."

Taub goes along, "Could be lead poi…"

"Uh, uh, uh!" You interrupt. Time to see if this girl is just a pretty face. "If I know Dr. Shameron — and I think I do — she'll want this chance for a little stuff-strutting."

Taking a seat, you cross your legs at the ankles, and lean back as Chase takes the file and attempts to hand it to Benedict, but you intercept the patient file from him, placing it on the table with hardly a glance, and look expectantly at Benedict with a smile to start the differential.

Starting she suggests, "Okay, hepatitis A."

Forman counters "Serologies are negative."

"Right…" Benedict continues with a little less confidence, "Appendicitis —"

"That hasn't ruptured by now? It's hepatic fibrosis," Forman concludes with a derogatory tone. God, he is so pissed you passed him over to do the hiring. _I love my job._

Taub chimes in next, "At the risk of having Foreman snark at me too, lead poisoning could also work."

Nodding to the workable ideas, you dole out orders "Liver angiogram to check for fibrosis. Search the home for heavy metals." Turning to Kelly you ask "What's your position on the legality of illegal break-ins?"

She looks confused and Chase swoops in to save her. "That's more of a second week type activity. We'll do the angiogram. I'll meet you in radiology, third floor."

Benedict is looking pretty down. But she is also looking pretty hot as she walks out of the room. _She does have some very fine legs, amongst other things_ , you think as you twist in your chair a bit to ogle her as she retreats.

Chase give you as resigned look. "She was nervous. Give her a break. Oh… And she's not like Cameron."

Smirking at him, "True. Cameron has much smaller breasts. By which I mean she's way smarter." And way more fun to fight with. She at least had some spunk to support her ideas both good and bad. Of course, now she can just spank you, or ban you from your own bed. Hopefully the former and not the latter will happen, once your team lets her know all about your harsh words somewhat at her expense.

* * *

"Have you met Chase's new hire?" You ask Allison as you finish up your lunch. A huge shit-eating grin spreading over your features.

"Was I right?" She asks, smirking back.

Shaking your head up and down indicating an enthusiastic 'yes', you confirm. "She is _incredibly_ hot. _You_ should come give us a consult."

"This is your game House. Not mine," she drones out as she gets back to finishing up her salad.

Looking up, you spy the topic of conversation enter the cafeteria. Lowing your body and voice conspiratorially, you inform Allison. "Oh, goodie! Look, she's having lunch with Chase! We should have them join us."

"House don't… " She warns but you'll have none of that. Raising your arm in the air you wave them over with a loud voice.

"Dr. Chase! Come join us, so Dr. Cameron 2.0 can meet Cameron Classic."

Chase looks dejected, but sees little avenue of retreat and leads Benedict over to your booth. You scoot over and neither Chase nor Benedict look thrilled to sit by you, so you raise an eyebrow at Allison who rolls her eyes and changes sides.

Of course, you don't do introductions, so Chase steps in. "Allison Cameron, Kelly Benedict."

Allison reaches across the table and the women shake hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you Dr. Benedict."

Benedict looks nervous. "Likewise, Dr. Cameron. So, ah, I guess you were member of House's team?"

"Yep. Three years. Got tired of his shit and moved to the E.R.. Then I got conned into coming back part time for another eight months or so."

"And then she left again because she decided she'd rather be _on_ my member."

"I left you before the sex."

"But you knew the sex was coming. See how worked that second pun in."

" _Now_ you see the real reason House was giving _me_ a hard time? Don't take it personally. He does this to everyone." Chase does his best to reassure her you are not really picking on her at all. But if she is smart, she won't buy that. You are most definately trying to get a reaction from both of them.

"Welcome to the team. It gets easier." Allison adds as she starts to get up.

"No it doesn't. Cameron's just demonstrating our team motto: everybody lies."

* * *

"So what are we doing here?" Jon asks you as you walk through the doors of the guitar super center.

"Solving a problem," you reply vaguely as you begin to peruse the closest display of guitars. Cheap things really, not really even anything you'd give an enemy. Some are kind of pretty, but not so well constructed and likely to not last the long haul, most likely would only serve to frustrate the person stuck playing them.

Hey, kind of like your new fellow.

"What problem are we going to solve at a guitar store?" Jon asks and snaps your wandering mind back to the task at hand.

"The problem of neither of you knowing who The Rolling Stones are."

"Wouldn't putting some of their music on our iPods solve that problem? Or we could google them, or look them up on YouTube," he says with a little bit of 'stupid adult' tone dripping in his voice.

Smacking him on the back, "Yeah, but once I do that, you are going to want to play the songs, and you can't do that without a guitar. Guitar is the centerpiece of the rock-n-roll sound. And it attracts way more babes," you waggle your eyebrows and he rolls his eyes.

"I get enough of that from Tommy," he sighs. "Why does everything have to revolve around getting girls to sleep with you?"

"I never said anything about sleeping with _girls_ ," you put down your cane and pick up a ridiculous looking guitar that looks like it just ran away from the 1980s, toss the strap over your shoulder and strum a chord, which makes very little noise since there is no amplification. "For instance, that guy with the blue eyes and cool tat that works at the coffee shop on Elm, total babe. A guy like that wants a boyfriend who rocks out," you stick your tongue out and shake your head from side to side and as you hammer nearly silent chords out on the piece of shit instrument in your hands.

Jon for his part looks mortified. Not at your ridiculous rocker impersonation, but at your no so subtle suggestion you know he's gay.

Stopping, you tell him plainly, with a little bit of a chuckle, "Don't look so shocked. It's not the big secret you think it is."

Nervously, he asks, "Are you going to tell my parents?"

In your own crass House way, you reassure him that his parents are not idiots. "No need. But you might want to mention it, just so they know that you know that they know."

"I don't know if I'm ready to do that." He tells you, obviously dreading the idea of it.

That puzzles you. They aren't homophobes. They have openly gay friends. They are openly liberal. According to Allison they have never limited their definition of a romantic relationship to that of only male with female. Yeah, telling your friends or schoolmates would be harder, but in this case, at least, seems his family would be an easy call.

Putting the guitar down you pick back up your cane and turn to him. "Why? Your folks are cool. They love you. You're mom wants to talk about cute boys." Tossing that last bit in there, tongue in cheek, you hope will lighten his mood. Instead he's is brewing like a Cameron. You know that look all too well.

"So this guitar looks cool." An evasion.

"Subtle," you sigh and start planning your second angle of attack, while acting like you are allowing the subject to drop.

Walking together, you end up in the bass section. He gets a bemused look, then looks up at you and informs you, "You know Tommy took Suzuki bass for a while. It wouldn't be much of a stretch for him to learn to play electric bass."

Now that is interesting. You figured Mariana made him try some sort of string instrument given her vocation. But for whatever reason you'd pictured him on violin.

"Why'd he quit?" you ask. Figuring you know the answer, but need to have it confirmed.

"He hates classic music because it isn't 'cool.' He is also a little bit lazy and doesn't like to practice. Mom is pretty set in her ways, so she didn't help being so forceful. The more she fought him, the more he was determined to hate it. Tommy has to have fun to bother doing anything. I always thought he just needs to find a style of music he can be passionate about."

You certainly get that. Your father ruined more than one activity he demanded you learn. Any one of which might have been cool if he hadn't been an ass about it. "What about you?" You ask, wondering what his take on music is. He seems to have nothing lacking in the passion department.

"I loved cello from day one. I love a lot of different kinds of music, but obviously the major body of work for cello is classical. Mostly, I like the sound of the instrument and the mental and physical challenge of learning a really tricky piece. It's something I can do that frees my mind from everything else, because when I play it's all just the music and in that moment nothing else matters."

 _Yeah. Exactly._ "I get that."

"Most musicians do," he says seriously and his understanding of what music gives him reminds you he is on the verge of learning to be an adult. Probably a better one than you.

Enough of being so serious. "So you open to learning to rock out on guitar?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Sure. I guess. Got to be easier to play around a campfire than cello," he jokes.

"There's the spirit. Normally I'd suggest starting with electric, but you play a stringed instrument already, so callouses and fingering strength will come over for the ride, so, really, you could go acoustic just as easy."

He thinks about it for a moment, weighing the options before answering thoughtfully. "If I'm going to do something different, I should do something different. So electric."

Hell yes. If he gives half the effort he puts into cello or even piano, he'll be more than serviceable. Might even get really good.

"Well, the good news is guitars cost about a _million_ dollars less than cellos. Take your pick from anything in the $300-$500 range and you should be okay for a starter instrument. If in doubt, google it for reviews, the sales guys will tell you _everything_ here is a great instrument."

"You're just going to buy me a guitar?" He looks at you like you are from Mars.

"Yep. I can't in good conscious let this lack of rockin' continue." Looking back to the basses, you ask, "So, what's Tommy's favorite color?"

"Blue. The color of his true love's eyes." Jon sighs out, in a dreamy romantic way, garnering a snort from you.

"Maybe this one then," you point to a royal blue Yamaha beginners bass. "It even has curves like Cuddy," you tease back, the shape of the instrument being rather reminiscent of the curves of a voluptuous female."

"Yeah. He'll like that," Jon answers as you pull it down from the wall and walk to an amp to plug it in and give it a little test drive. Not that you play bass really, but you know a few songs well enough to make sure it doesn't suck or have awkward action.

Jon peruses the options for guitar as you mess around on the bass. It doesn't take long for a sales person to approach. You hand the instrument off to him, ask him to adjust the action and ask about options for cases. Settling in on a lightweight hardsided case, he leaves to set up the bass and you go in search of Jon who has wondered off to another section of the store.

You find him eying a Fender Standard Strat in a brown sunburst finish. A classic design, but a little over the price range you are willing to pay for a starter instrument, _unless…_ Heading back to the salesman you ask, "You sell used instruments?"

"Yeah, we have a few. What you looking for?"

"Got a Standard Strat, sunburst finish?"

"No. But I know someone who does. Wants to upgrade his main ax; can't until he sells something. It's in good shape. It's his backup, so hasn't been played a ton. I can give you his email or text him your number."

"Text him. Ask him if he can meet me at that coffee shop on Elm in say 30 minutes."

"You got it." Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sends off a quick text. Less than 30 seconds later he has his reply.

"He's good. Wants to know if I can text a pic so he knows who he's looking for."

"Whatever," you confirm and he snap a quick pick and sends it off.

"Alright. Done. He'll be the blond with the guitar."

"Thanks," pulling out your wallet you hand him a twenty, figuring he lost a commision by helping you out. He smiles and thanks you, as he stuffs it in his front pocket.

"Ok. Lastly, I need a drum set. Something nice, maybe lower end professional. Something that can cover a range of styles. Doesn't have to be overly portable, it's going to live in our music room. Doubt it's going to be played on any gigs," you explain as you text Jon to meet you in the percussion section.

"Starting a family band," the salesman asks as Jon joins you and you realize he likely thinks he's your kid.

You suppose you are. _Huh_. "Something like that."

Looking to Jon as he approaches, you tell him. "I saw you eying that Strat."

"Yeah, it looked really nice. But it was more than you said. It was the only one I'd heard of before. Not that means anything. Strat also sounds like Strad, so I thought that was cool too." Yeah, good thing a Stratocaster doesn't cost anything near what a Stradivarius would.

"You have issues with playing second hand instruments?" You ask. Knowing that he's a mature enough musician to know that new and shinny mean nothing. Sound and feel are all that really matter.

"My cello is over a hundred years old. What do you think?" He replies.

"Ah, good point. Well, I have a line on a used Strat with that same finish, if you want to check it out."

He looks a little excited, though he seems to be working to contain it. "Sure, if you think it is a good guitar."

"It's a solid place to start. If you like it, get good at it, you'll be able to figure out what you really want later. Main thing is to get something that you don't have to fight the action on."

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay then," you rub your hands over your cane as if you are spinning it to start a fire, "what we need to do next is find a drumset for Allison."

"You're getting a drumset for Aunt Allison?" Well, that blew his mind. Fun.

"Hell yeah I am. She played percussion in school and a hot chick playing drumset is… well it's hot!"

"Ew," he wrinkles his nose.

"Because she's your aunt or because I'm talking about hot girls?"

"Little of both. Mostly aunt," he admits, to your pleasure. Maybe he is getting more comfortable with the topic.

"So no switch hitting then," you press, wondering if he maybe at least considers girls as a backup plan.

"This red set looks cool," he points and the salesman, who has been politely silent walks over to the set and sits down to give a demo. "Yeah, this one is great, hard to go wrong with Yamaha anything. Looks good. Sounds good. Intermediate category. Medium sized bass and floor toms, so could go rock, big band jazz, would be ok for smaller group jazz, if you were willing to lug it. But since that isn't an issue…" He begins to play a funk groove.

"Boy, you are good at the whole evasion thing," you lean over and whisper in Jon's ear as the salesman demos the set. "But you have no idea who you are dealing with."

"It's _none_ of _your_ business," he answers back.

"Nope. But that means very little to me. Sooner you get used to that idea, the better we'll get along."

* * *

You refrained from embarrassing Jon in front of Dan, the barista that obviously has him hot under the collar. The kid looks 17 maybe. Longish brown hair, sort of reminds you of Chase's old style, light ice blue eyes, mostly clear complexion, tall, thin build, facial features you might call pretty, and a couple of tribal looking tattoos on his forearms. Doesn't act overtly feminine or anything so stereotypical, but openly flirted with men on more than one occasion when you have been waiting in line, so seems to be comfortable out of the closet.

Maybe, at his age, a 14 year old boyfriend seems too young. Who knows. Hell, they don't even need to date. Jon just needs to let himself flirt or anything really publicly. Maybe he does, for all you know, but not around his family. No matter. You're on the job now, so things are about to change.

Glancing at your watch, you see you have 5 minutes until the guy with the guitar is supposed to show. You slurp the last of the mocha frap from your cup loudly through the straw, making a big display of it being empty. Jon is stealing quick looks at Dan when he thinks you aren't looking, and Dan is playing it cool, with a little grin on his face, but is neither encouraging nor discouraging Jon.

"So, this guy should be here any minute. Then again, he's a musician, so who knows."

"It's really nice of you to do this for us, Mr. Greg. I bet Tommy will actually be excited about playing because _you're_ giving him the bass."

"You know I'm not a fan of the _Mr. Greg_ thing, right?"

"Well, I'm not going to call you House. That's just weird. You aren't my P.E. teacher. I guess, since you're going to marry Aunt Allison, I should start calling you Uncle Greg."

"If you want. Or just Greg works too. I'm not your mom, you know, and you're 14 not 4."

"I know, but I also still have to live with my mother and you don't. So Uncle Greg will have to do."

"Whatever." You pause for a second, then dive in with full force. "So, why not tell your folks that you're gay? Seriously, they really already know. They are okay with it. They just aren't a jerk like me, and want to wait for you to come out, just in case they are wrong. Me, I _am_ a jerk and I know they aren't wrong."

"If I tell you, will you let it drop?"

"I doubt it. I don't really do well with dropping things."

Silence.

Okay.

Try to be less of a jerk. You can keep secrets. You do it for Wilson all the time. Can you let it drop though, if you don't like his reasoning? That's the hard part. You've been better with that lately. Doesn't hurt to at least try.

"Look. I'll try. But I suck at this sort of thing, so there is a very good chance if I think your reasoning is stupid, I'll tell you as much and keep bringing it up. That's really the best I can do."

He takes a deep sigh. Again, a look you know all too well in another Cameron. He has obviously figured out he's screwed for sure if he doesn't talk. So at least he has a chance if he does give you the information your mind needs to stop spinning.

"So, last year, maybe a month into the school year, a friend of mine from orchestra came out to me. He didn't ask me out or anything, but I had kind of had a crush on him for a while, and after he told me, we got closer. I didn't tell him I liked him right away. Or even that I was gay too. I thought he might know, since he trusted me to tell me. I used to sleep over at his place once or twice a week. Had been like that for a few years.

"So we'd spend a lot of nights talking about how he felt. How he wanted to tell his parents but wasn't sure how. I told him a few times that he should just tell them. That they seemed cool, and that they had gay friends and that they were the kind of people who would love him no matter what.

"He mostly agreed, but it was still too hard. It isn't exactly the easiest thing to deal with. As much as it seems like it's okay to be gay now, it isn't. At least not as okay as it is to be hetro. The fact we have to declare our sexuality is just one small example of how society doesn't consider it _normal_.

"Anyway, I couldn't take it after a few weeks and I told him I was gay too and that I liked him as more than a friend.

"I guess this is the part where being gay might be a little better, because no one thinks twice about letting you sleep with your friends of the same sex unless you are openly gay. Anyway, he liked me too. We decided not to say anything because we knew we'd never get to spend the night together again after that. And, even though we decided to go slow physically, we didn't want to lose our time together."

"But things didn't stay slow," you surmise.

He shrugs and continues, "They did at first. We talked a lot, but we also kissed a lot. His parents were still in the next room, they could barge in whenever they felt like it, so it was risky just kissing and touching.

"But then, a few months after we'd gotten together, they had to go on this long weekend trip and they asked my mom if I could stay with him alone at their place and have her keep an eye on us. They thought he was old enough to have the extra responsibility of staying without a babysitter, but didn't want him to be completely alone.

"That was when things got more serious. A lot more. Not long after that, he decided he didn't want to have to hide us. He wanted to come out.

"But then I wasn't so sure. I liked what we were doing, and I knew that if we told our parents, we wouldn't be able to have sex whenever we wanted. They'd watch us like hawks. They aren't stupid, they'd put two and two together about why we came out, and what we were doing already and I wasn't ready to have that discussion with either of our parents."

"But he was tired of hiding. So we compromised. He agreed to come out, but he wouldn't tell his parents about us. So maybe they'd just continue to think we were just friends and maybe we wouldn't have to find ways to sneak around."

"So a week later he disappears from school. I can't get him on the phone, he doesn't return my texts, _nothing_ for a week. I'm freaking out, so mom calls. His mother tells her that he's fine, he's at a string camp he got a last minute invite to because someone dropped out. I was still freaked, because he wouldn't just _stop_ texting me."

"He comes back a month later. Doesn't want to talk to me. Says he's been cured and that he can't be around me anymore because he wants to stay normal.

He looks down at the table completely degected. "They sent him away and brainwashed him."

"Jesus," is all you can think to say for once.

"Yeah, there was some of that too," he adds with a spiteful tone, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"So, now I don't know what I can trust. We thought his parents were cool too, and look what happened. It took me six months after that to just be _okay_ with myself again. I'm not sure I can handle it if my parents tell me I should even consider trying to be straight."

That was far more complicated than you imagined, but you really believe his fears are misplaced on his own parents. You trust Allison to know them. Then again, everybody lies. Before you can formulate a response to his story, a blond walks in with a guitar.

Great timing.

"Hold that thought. Guitar Guy is just walked in," you tell Jon, who seems remarkably cool considering the information he just laid on you.

Guitar Guy thought ahead and also brought a mini-amp. He walks over to your table and the negotiation begins. You may not be a Jew, but your best friend is, so you like to think you know a thing or two about jewing a price down.

You play the instrument, starting out with some blues, then ripping into the intro to Sweet Child of Mine. You're not a huge Guns 'n' Roses fan, but you can't fault Slash's guitar prowess. Between riffs, the two of you haggle over price and the quality of the instrument until you have him in the ballpark.

"No way. Four-fifty is my final offer," you'd really go to $500, because the thing looked and played like it was new, despite being 10 years old, but you are good at lying and you are pretty intimidating as well.

"I'm not going under five," he stands firm and you hand him back the guitar and pull out your wallet. Out of it you toss down four one-hundred dollar notes and one fifty.

"Look. There's four-fifty in cash, right now. I'm not going higher. Pick it up and we have a deal, otherwise, I guess we'll take off. Just remember that if you let me walk, and you decide to text me back two weeks from now, when you're more desperate, I'm probably not going to offer this much then."

He's thinking hard about it. If he calls your bluff, you'll have to cave, but your poker face is exceptional and Jon is great. Not whining or looking weak in front of the enemy. Might have something to do with the attention your playing has drawn from his favorite staff member. You really are a great wingman. _This uncle shit is a fucking piece of cake._

You can see it the moment he caves. It feels great. He reaches down and takes the money from the table and hands you back the guitar. "You drive a hard bargain. Hope your kid enjoys learning to play."

"Oh, he'll be a badass in no time with my expert tutelage," you assure the blond and he shakes your hand, takes up his amp and leaves you with your purchase. Jon looks very excited now, you hand it to him and he puts the strap over his shoulder. It hangs far too low, so you adjust it, and hand him a pick. "Okay, let's show you a couple of chords before we pack up and head home."

Jon positions his hand very naturally on the neck, thumb position was perfect. Many years of lessons meant he knew the drill of letting the teacher position his fingers. You help him form the shape, and tell him "Okay, this is D."

"Major, minor, dominant, diminished?"

"Oh, I guess you're going to be fancy about it. Geeze. Just plain old major chords unless I specify otherwise, okay?"

"'Kay."

Next you show him how to best hold the pick and strings he should strum. He plays the chord well, the sound still audible without the amp.

"Very good. Now this is an A." Grabbing his fingers you reposition them and show what strings to stroke and he again plays the chord very well. His obvious finger strength and coordination are going to make easy work of learning the new instrument. So much of the physical and mental foundation is already laid, despite the big differences in the tuning structure.

Dan, having no other customers, has wandered over to observe. Oh, you are so very good.

"Nice. Your dad is really good. Is he teaching you to play?"

"Uncle, and yeah."

The older boy smiles and shrugs, "I play a little. I'm not very good, but it's a lot of fun. No one in my family knows anything about music, though, so I have to watch a lot of YouTube videos to figure things out."

Jon nods, "Everyone in my family plays something, or at least used to play something. My mom is a professional violinist. I play cello, and piano. My brother plays piano badly. My dad played sax in high school, now there's Uncle Greg who plays guitar and piano, and I just found out that my aunt played drums in high school."

"Wow. You're lucky. You'll probably be really good at guitar."

Jon shrugs his shoulders, in an attempt to be modest. Then takes the guitar off and takes it to it's case. "I guess we'll find out soon."

Now this is where he should ask the kid when he gets off, and if he'd like some help with that. But you are sure that won't happen sans intervention. Best not be that crude though. Don't want to make him think you are _that_ kind of uncle.

You opt for a not so subtle jab to Jon's shin with the cane and an even more obvious nod of the head toward Dan, who is standing right beside you. Then you mouth to Jon "ask him over."

You get the Cameron death stare. Good thing you've never been phased.

* * *

It was like pulling teeth but you finally got Jon to man up. Once you embarrassed him enough, anyway. Dan was cool about it. Told Jon his family used to do the same thing to him all the time.

You gave Dan the address and he programed it into his phone and promised to come over after he finished closing. You hit the bathroom before leaving and use the moment alone to text Allison and let her know there's one more for dinner.

'Order an extra kung pao chicken'

'Why'

'Jon just made a friend, he's coming over for dinner  
'Might be coming after dinner too, if we don't keep an eye on them'

'Wtf are you talking about'

'The hot guy from the coffee shop is stopping by after work to see Jon's new guitar'

'Like a date?'

'Y'

'Wow :) details?'

'Got to drive now. We'll talk tonight'

'See u at home'

The excitement in the car is palatable. Between the guitar and the hook up with Dan, Jon was bursting at the seams. "So, you know that Allison knows too, right? And she knows that Coffee Shop Dude is flaming."

"Yeah. And he's no more flaming than I am. Neither of us acts _gay_." He emphasizes the word to express it in a derogatory way. You know what he means, but he's going to have to deal with mincing words.

"Aside from the whole _being gay_ part."

"You know what I mean. We're not girly. We don't sway our hips, or call each other girlfriend, or talk with a lisp," he says in a mock gay guy voice and crosses his arms across his chest. His mannerisms are so much like Allison, it's kind of funny.

"I didn't know that was required to be flaming. I was pretty sure it just meant that you want to have homo sex." Hell, you and Wilson don't really act gay at all and everyone still thinks the two of you are flaming. Putting a sway in your limp was all it took to convince Nora she was right.

"This is the other thing I don't want to deal with. Let's assume you are right, Mom and Dad are completely cool. I don't want them to treat me differently. I don't want Mom gushing over boys with me, expecting me to go all limp wrist. Just because I _like_ guys, doesn't mean I want to stop being one. I am pretty sure that somehow defeats the purpose. I also don't like guys that act that way. I like men, not chicks with dicks."

"Wow." You chuckle out, liking him more and more as the day goes on. He's obviously given the whole thing a lot of thought. "So just tell them that. Just like you told me, and I think you'll be fine. Sucks you have to say it, but life sucks on regular occasion. And not in the fun way you hope that Dan does."

He stares you down with that Cameron look, one more time. And even though you aren't able to look from the road, you can feel brown eyes burning the side of your face. "How can you be so cool, yet so creepy all at the same time?"

"It's a gift."

"It's something," he huffs, then after a moment of silence tells you sincerely. "Thanks, by the way. For acting like it's no big deal."

"It isn't a big deal. It's just biology."

"I wish everyone thought that way."

"Well, 'You can't always get what you want.'"


	8. Chapter 8

_A.N.:_

 _So... if somehow you have made it this far, with all the various anal naughtiness and are not into it, be warned again there is butt love to follow. House more or less announces he's going to be naughty to her, so when you read that, skip from ~o~ to ~o~ and you'll more or less be safe. There will also be some BDSM involved. So you might skip from ooo to_ _~o~_ _if that isn't your thing. Otherwise, you are welcome freaks. :P_

 _Continued spoilers for 7:04 "Massage Therapy." Poor Chase. And another big thanks to atavares! Oh the fun we still have in store. And a huge thanks to all of you who have stuck around with me on this one! Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

* * *

 **Chapter 8:**

You are so getting laid tonight, you surmise as Allison welcomes the both of you home.

"Hey Tommy, stop killing zombies and come check out what Uncle Greg got us." Jon announces, as he carries both instruments into the music area of the great room. Tommy hits the pause button, tosses the controller on the couch and heads into the room to see what 'loot' you got him.

You made Jon promise to keep the news of the drums on the downlow. They will be delivered, setup and tuned up in a couple of days as an early birthday present for Allison, along with a couple of months of weekly lessons to get her started, From there she can decide if she wants to keep up with formal training or not.

Jon hands the bass case over to Tommy, who sets it across the couch excitedly before opening it. "Oh cool. It's blue. But hey this is a bass and and not a guitar! I thought I needed guitar to get chicks?" He teases, but the smile on his face says Jon and you made a good call.

"You can be like Sting, or Flea. I don't think either of them are having issues in the landing babes department," you joke back just before he semi-tackles you with a bear hug that you accept awkwardly, as Allison approaches from the kitchen to have a closer look at what you purchased for her… well _your_ nephews. "Thanks, House. It's really cool."

"Hey, he's Uncle Greg now." Jon corrects.

Tommy looks up at you with a smirk and you raise your eyebrows and shrug your shoulders. "I like that." He confirms and finally lets you loose to pick up his new bass. You help him adjust the strap, trying to ignore the huge smile on Allison's face that, for some reason, embarrasses you. Probably because this sort of thing is so NOT you. At least not a _you_ that you show very often for very long.

"Wow, those are really awesome guys." Allison confirms, as she checks out Jon's guitar first then Tommy's bass. After she finishes admiring them she walks over to you and stands on her tip-toes to plant a firm kiss on your cheek. " _Uncle_ Greg doesn't normally do this sort of thing. You should really feel honored." Obviously this is her saying _she's_ honored by your actions.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. "I just wanted to make sure that I get laid tonight. After this morning I figured I needed to up my game."

"Get a room." Jon groans as he looks around for a cord and tries to decide which amp to plug into.

"We own all the rooms here, so deal with it," you snap back, before instructing him. "The one on the left would be better for your guitar. Tommy try my old keyboard amp, over beside the piano. You can pull it out with the others."

A couple of minutes later and the room is filled with discordant noise and you couldn't be happier. It brings back a ton of memories for you, all good. Even the ones where your father yelled at you to keep it down. After you learned a smattering of songs, he really did enjoy some of the things you played. He was a fan of traditional blues and country. You, being a fan of good music, regardless the genre, were happy to whip up a few tunes to keep the old man happy so he wouldn't ruin the one thing you really loved more than anything else.

You leave them to it and walk back into the kitchen with Allison, using the cover of sound to loop Allison in on the Jon developments and agree that how Jon decides to deal with Tommy should be up to him and not for you to just blurt out, despite your natural desire to do just that. Though, after your guest gets here, you wonder just how long it will take for Tommy to piece the puzzle together.

The two of you just about have the food all set out and plated up at the bar—you really need to get a dining table if you are going to regularly have more than four people to feed—when the doorbell rings and Allison goes to let in your company. Dan greets her warmly by name, because he's good at his job and remembers things like that, and proceeds to join you in the kitchen as the other boys put down their new toys in favor of eating.

After dinner, Allison volunteers to clean up so you can play with the other kids. You lend Dan your acoustic and find he is halfway decent for being self taught.

By the end of the night you have taught them a blues and it almost sounded like they wouldn't fall completely apart. You've never been the nurturing type, but teaching the boys to play something you love made it seem more natural, although you were still a jerk and smartass about it. Fortunately, none of them seemed to mind.

By 10:45 Dan has to say his goodbye's to make his curfew and Jon walks him to his car. There isn't a good way to peek undetected so you and Allison are left to wonder if something more than friendship might be brewing. If the way they sat just a little too close together, or the way Dan stepped up behind Jon a few times to help show him a fingering were indications, your guess is there's a game of tonsil hockey in the drive. The blush on Jon's cheeks when he comes back in confirms it for both of you.

* * *

Naked total-body massages have to be one of your favorite things. What's even better is that, with Allison, you don't have to pay for it or the happy ending.

"God, you are really good at this. How did you get so good? Were you a prostitute in your last life? Date a massage therapist? If so, please tell me she was hot."

She smacks you on the back of the head and you raise your head and glare back at her with a raised eyebrow, before sticking out your tongue and returning to your relaxed position. Her hands resume their magnificent ministrations.

"Well, I learned the massage parts as a teenager. The doing it naked, came later."

"I bet it did…" That earns you another back of the head smack. "You are abusive."

"You deserve it. Dad had a lot of back problems because of his work. I used to walk on his back when I was really little. When I got too big to do that safely, I got some books and learned how to give deep tissue massage. It was something I used to my advantage later, when I got into college. Men are suckers for a pretty girl who can massage more than just their member."

"And you do that really well too. Your hands are magic."

"That's what Dad always said, well not about that other part. Ew. _Just_ the back massage part. You know, that is how I ended up with Brian. He was at this party. He'd already quit school, was out of money for treatment and more or less was just trying to get life in before… Anyway, he was a bit buzzed and tossing various girls around, tweaked his back when he was lifting me because I twisted to get away and it threw off his balance. Afterward, I felt bad and dragged him into a bedroom and gave him a backrub. Then he used his sad story and big puppy eyes to make it a naked massage and the rest, as they say, is history."

"That explains everything. Because this is exactly why I want to marry you too. You are just as good and far cheaper than Brandi."

"Prostitute?"

"I _am_ me, you know."

"I know. Just so long as Little Greg knows I am me, and I most certainly can hold a grudge if I find out he's been getting happy endings elsewhere since I've been giving them to him."

"Speaking of grudges… Oh, fuck babe, yeah that's a really sore spot. Mmmm, ohh stay right there," you beg as she really digs in with the heels of her hands around your right shoulder blade. That area is always fucked up, thanks to the cane. "Anyway, your Dad. Have you given anymore thought to our having a party and inviting your parents over?"

Dammit, she moved spots. "That is a cruel way to repay me actually being caring."

"Hey, you hit my sore spot, I stop fixing yours."

"I'm not going to drop it, _Al_. As much as I love the way you stroke my various bits of man meat, I can't let it go. You know I can't. It's not in me to stop once I'm this far into a puzzle."

"What if I tell you why they call me Al?" _Ha! Call me Al._ Just as you open your mouth to sing, she reads your mind "And no, don't sing the song, because you can't call me Al."

"I can and do."

"I can and will withhold blowjobs."

"You're right… the word is suddenly getting stuck in my throat."

"Good boy." She rewards you by returning to the spot.

"Everyone was sure I was going to be a boy. Some sort of old, _extremely scientific,_ " the words drip with sarcasm, "theory on the shape of my mother's belly once she started showing was to blame. I was to be named after my mother's father, Alastor, who had died just before Mom got pregnant with me. So I was basicly Al for the majority of the time I was in the womb. I was still unofficially Al for a week after birth with no official name until my other grandfather suggested Allison."

"My family kept Al as a pet name. I didn't even know it was a weird name for a girl until school. I got mistaken for a boy all the time as a little kid, between the name and how I dressed. I had all these great new guy friends first day of school until the first restroom break, when they found out I was a girl. After that, I got teased all the time for it. Most my family stopped using it after I grew up a bit and got the guts to tell them I hated it. But Dad persists, and Gabe of course. It's not something I find _endearing_ , or _cute_. Mostly, it just makes me want to do evil things to you in your sleep. Things you'll never know about, until it is too late, because I'm a _really_ good doctor."

"Point taken." Maybe you'll let it drop. Probably not.

"So what's up with the cheerleader pic?" _Great._

Taking a deep breath you tell her, knowing that she will forever have ammo she can turn into a big ass banner and hang in the lobby of the hospital if you piss her off. "I was trying to get laid. She was on the squad. I joined so I could seem sensitive while getting to hold her over my head by the pussy and constantly look up her skirt as part of my job."

"How did it work out for you?" She asks, sounding amused.

Well, you do have a story she might enjoy. So long as she keeps working your back out you might tell her anything she wants to know.

"She assumed I was gay. _Buuuut_ I almost got a drunken blowjob from one of my _male_ teammates. He had more or less convinced me that I shouldn't die without knowing what it felt like to get sucked off by a guy. Said it was ten times better than from a chick. With each successive beer his arguments became more and more convincing. Had my roommate chosen to be five minutes later that night, he would have come back to a tie on the door."

"If you are lying, that is totally okay, because damn… Oh, you have to show me which guy it was! I need visuals for those lonely nights you're working over and it's just me and my dildo passing the night away."

"I'll show you on one condition, you video that for me for those lonely nights that you're working over and it's just me and your dildo passing the night away."

"Deal." She laughs and after a moment of silent massage says, "Thank you for what you did today."

"Hey, a grand is a small price to pay to insure that the next generation is properly exposed to The Stones."

"Getting them instruments was also really nice, but that isn't what I was talking about."

"You know me. I'm an expert with closeted gay dudes."

"You are. Maybe you'd like me to strap on a Wilson Junior and show you just how much of an expert I think you are." To emphasize her point she grinds her pussy against your ass, in a more than suggested way. Grinning at her boldness, you roll over beneath her and pull her against your cock and return the favor.

"Maybe, one day, if you are a good little girl, I'll let you be bad and fuck me like that. But tonight I am going to use your big dildo and my cock to fuck both your holes. Two. Big. Cocks. Pounding you. Of course, with the boys here, I'll have to gag you to keep the noise down, because I know how loudly you scream when you come hard with two big cocks fucking you deep and fast."

"Fuck, Greg."

"Yeah, double fuck to be precise. I can wear the butt plug vibe again, and then we both can have some back-door love for the occasion."

"I'll get the toys and the lube," she annouces gleefully as she jumps off you to go open the safe. You have a rather wicked thought, as she bends over to open the safe, which is on the floor of the closet. Her naked ass in the air giving you a view of all that is holy. _Nice pun by the way._

"How do you feel about duct tape?"

She looks over her shoulder and flashes you a grin, loving the lustful way you are looking at her. She knows that look. The one that says you are in a mood to dominate her. "You know I trust you and we have the hand signal, so go for it."

Getting up, you toss on pants to go to the kitchen junk drawer to get the duct tape. Her willingness for kink may never cease to amaze you. Dammit, there are lights coming from under the door of both boy's rooms. You might barge in tell them lights out, but you don't really want to know what they are most likely up to this time of night, especially now they have the privacy of separate bedrooms.

So you go for something more your style anyway, knock on their doors and yell. "I'd put some headphones on if you are serious about not wanting to be traumatised." Because gag or no, Allison is _bound_ to be noisy because you plan on fucking her to the edge and back, then back again. Boy you are on fire with the puns tonight!

"Come on Uncle Greg. TMI." Jon groans back.

"Trust me, you'll prefer it to the alternative of knowing and hearing. This is me being nice."

"You must be a real bastard when you're mean."

"You must be a genius. Just toss on those tracks I gave you earlier tonight."

ooo

Heading back to the room, you find a pissed looking Allison, still gloriously naked and covered in the oil from the earlier massage she was giving you. "Did you really just announce it to the boys?!" Your lust addled mind barely registers the words, but the dom in you can't abide with that tone from her.

"Yes. And _you_ don't get to talk. Come here," you tell her as you grab a clean handkerchief from your draw while she looks at you contritely. Good thing your mother still thinks men use these germ rags. They are quite good for gagging. "Now, or you _will_ be punished," you say with a low voice but stern voice, not wanting to be heard. Her look is smoldering, but yours is serious, dangerous even, and she knows she has no choice but to obey you in this. You like it this way—having her a little angry, rather than grateful, will make the play all the more real. God, sometimes you just need to fuck her raw! And thankfully, she sometimes needs it just as badly as you do.

"Open that fuckable little trap of yours. Nice and wide, like you have to when you take my cock all the way down." She complies as you ball up the fabric and stuff it in her mouth, then tell her "Pull back your hair." Again she follows your command, her eyes never wavering from yours. The heat is burning you right down to your core and your cock responds, pulsing and twitching as it engorges. You notice she has a ponytail band around her wrist. "Put it in a ponytail. I might want to pull it later while I fuck you raw."

Once her task is completed, you rip off a length of the grey duct tape, long enough to cover her mouth, then tape the gag and her mouth in place. Reaching into your pants, you adjust your cock, which is quickly becoming rock hard, yearning to break free of your pajama pants. Glad you didn't bother with underwear. "Perfect. Now your hands. Hold them in front of your face. Clasp your hands, and press your forearms together down to the elbow."

Once done, more praise is given. "You are such a good little slave tonight. Keep it up and I'll make sure you are properly rewarded." You tape her tightly at the wrists. "Now, go sit on the edge of the bed. Your side. Make sure to keep those legs spread nice and wide for me."

She moves to the right side of the bed and you follow behind, grabbing the chair she keeps by the dresser as you do. Placing it in front of her, you drop your pants, revealing your monstrous hardon to her and her eyes focus on it wantonly. "God, you are such a slut. Can't get enough cock can you? Never enough big dicks fucking every tight little hole you have. Never enough come sprayed all over you. Sluts like you need to get fucked, hard, in _all_ their fun places. Is that what you want? For me to fuck you until you spray me, then fuck you some more until you pass out?" You ask as you sit, spit in your hand and start stroking yourself.

Her head nods up and down, affirming her desire to be _used_ by you. And use her you will. It's only fair to return the favor from time to time.

You stand and approach her, grabbing her hands and shoving your wet dick between them, fucking her hands, as if you have little care for her pleasure. But you know she likes it. She loves it. She loves your cock fucking her in every way you've ever thought of. Too bad her mouth has to be gagged to keep her quiet. You'd love to see her adding it into the mix, as you fuck her hands. It's not to be tonight.

 _~o~_

Surveying the bed as you pleasure yourself, you see she has laid out all the fun toys you've requested. Maybe now's a good time to get your toy set up. You grap the black butt plug with cockring and the lube. You squirt some between her hands and shove the plug there to lube it, squirt some on your fingers and reach behind yourself to coat your anus.

"You like it when I finger myself don't you? Probably gets you thinking about how you want to watch Wilson ass-fuck me. Don't deny it. You'd get off on watching us. Seeing him bury his fat cock in my ass up to the hilt and pound me until I spray hot jiz all over myself. It kills you, doesn't it? Wondering if we ever have. Oh, you know I really like girls, but then again, I also like how it feels when you finger fuck me… Maybe it's because I like dicks too? Maybe you would like to strap one on and fuck my ass? Well, how about you start by fucking me with that plug?"

Pulling your fingers out of your ass, which is quite well prepared now, you grab the plug, positioning it in her hand so she will be able to grab the base and insert it. Turning, you spread your cheeks for her. She wastes no time sliding it in then pulling it back out and in again, fucking you slowly with it. The sensation is amazing, sending tingles radiating out from your core and down your legs as if someone is pouring hot oil all over you. "Yeah. That's it. Fuck me like that." She continues fucking you slowly, and you push yourself to the edge before you stop her, knowing that you have a long way to go before you are willing to come. "Stop. Pull it out so I can put on the cock ring." She does and you take it from her and slide your cock into the ring then pass the plug over your balls and back to her. "Push it in all the way and leave it. Your little fun time fucking Master is over. It's his turn to open up that tight little ass of yours now."

She obeys yet again and, once it is in place, you turn around to look at her. Her pussy is dripping and throbbing. You can smell it. You are sorely tempted to just finish yourself right on her face, porn style, but you also know that is one of her hard noes, so you are a good dom and play by the rules. "Get up. Turn around and kneel on the edge of the bed. Lean forward onto your forearms so I have full access to all the fun little places I want to fuck."

Doing as she is told, she stands and turns. You step back to give her room. She is somewhat awkward with her wrist bound, but you offer no help. Once she is settled you pull the chair forward and get ready to dine at your favorite place, but not before giving each of her ass cheeks a hard, but playful slap. _That was loud._ Oh well, hopefully the boys took your advice to heart.

Sitting down, you admire the buffet a moment before diving in tongue first. She responds, pushing back into your mouth as your tongue pushes inside her. After a few minutes licking and probing you pull back and admire the way her pussy pulses.

"Fucking horny little bitch, aren't you? God, you are dripping wet just from fucking my ass. You don't even get to feel it. And make no mistake, it felt fucking amazing." Diving back in you lick her clean; grabbing her hips to keep her from squirming too far forward. Once satisfied with the state of her pussy you dive, tongue first, into her ass. She jumps in surprise at your bold move. But you know she's thoroughly cleaned and prepared herself, so there's no good reason not to give her a little rim job to get things going.

After the first moment of surprise, she gives over to the pleasure of it. Nothing has ever pleased you more. She might do anything for you.

"Oh yeah. That's dirty, isn't it? But you still like it, don't you? I can tell by the way you are whimpering you want more," but just to be sure, you glance up at her hands and still find them clasped together in the 'good to go' position. If she wanted you to stop, all she need do is place them in a 'praying' position with the fingers straight, and you'll know you've gone too far. You are pretty sure that it won't ever come to that. She is kinky and you aren't _that_ fucked up.

"Alright, little girl. Time to spread you open and make you come."

You lean forward and take the large, life like, dildo you've both started referring to as 'junior,' a condom, in case you want to change holes later, and get him ready. You toss the foil to the side, roll the covering on, then coat it in a large amount of lube. Her ass is next in line for a good lubing and you finger her a little to finish warming things up. "Are you ready to get an ass pounding?" You ask, but wait for not answer before plugging junior in all the way. Allison lets out a surprised squeal at your speed, followed quickly by a low muffled moan.

Pleased with yourself, you stand and enter her pussy just as forcefully, enjoying the extra tightness brought on by the other large cock in her ass. Rather than move your own, very happy and contented dick, you opt to wiggle the dildo around a bit, reveling in the feeling of her squirming as it rubs both of you through the thin wall of flesh between it and your dick.

You pull back then, drawing both cocks out then pushing both back in with a hard quick thrust. The cock ring tugs on the butt plug giving your prostate a little jolt of pleasure and you start a steady pace fucking her with your dick and junior. "Fuck, baby. I knew a hot little slut like you could take to big cocks. Damn, it feels good. I bet you love it. I bet you are close to squirting your come all over our new sheets. Good thing we finally bought a second set. I'm going to make you spray over and over and over tonight and you'll be lucky to be able to sit tomorrow."

It feels exquisite, but you are finding the position limiting. But before you change you reach forward and pinch her clit, shove junior in all the way, then pound her like you still have two good legs, pain be damned, until she comes a stream and, as promised, soaks the sheets. She falls forward exhausted, but you are far from finished. "Don't get any ideas about sleeping, slave. I meant every word about how I'm going to fuck you. I'm not even close to coming yet and your holes aren't even close to being abused the way I want."

Smacking her hard on the ass again as you pull out, leaving junior behind in her behind, you command her. "Roll over and lie on your side, and try not to lose junior as you do it.

She deftly manages to do just that. "Good girl."

You join her on your side, facing her, pressing her bound hands between your bodies. "Now I can reach around and really slam that little ass while I fuck your pussy slow and deep." Grabbing a leg, you hook it around your arm and slide inside her again, then you wrap her leg around your body. You take the opportunity to swtich on the viberator in your plug before reaching around her and grabbing the end of the dildo, pounding it into her fast, as your own hips grind into her slowly, and your pelvic bone grinds hard against her clit.

Her eyes are dark. She looks akin to a person high on opiates, full of pleasure endorphins. Endorphins caused by the way you are fucking her. Pupils fully dilated, face relaxed, head tossed back. "God, I love you. You are so perfect like this, high on my dick."

Leaning forward, you kiss her sweat dampened brow and continue to fuck her senseless. You feel your own climax nearing. Your prostate is humming and your cock is singing. "One more time, baby. Spray me again," you order and her body submits once more to your whim. Warm liquid soaks your cock as her eyes lose all focus and her muffled voice screams against the gag. A moment later, your whole body seems to explode inside of her and, for at least a minute, the room has gone white.

 _~o~_

It never lasts long enough. As the endorphins wane, your pain waxes and you have to move, despite wanting to stay wrapped up with her forever. Fucking leg. You always pay the price when you get in this mood. The mood where you fuck like you want despite the missing chunk of leg. Even if you had vicodin now, it wouldn't matter much. You'd pay in pain for your pleasure either way.

Opening your eyes, you look straight into concerned ones. Your face must be giving it away. "Here," you say as you reach up and gently pull off the tape from her mouth, followed by the handkerchief.

"Thanks," she tells you. "Loosen my hands and I'll run a hot bath and get the Advil."

You nod and pull the tape from her wrists, taking a moment to kiss the reddened flesh, "Sorry," worried now she might have some bruising tomorrow.

"Well worth a little pain," she brushes off your concern, instead offering you hers. "Speaking of, are you going to be okay?"

"Like you said, well worth a little pain."

She looks at you skeptically, but knows better than to call you out about your pain level or the decision to overexert yourself. Sometimes you need to fuck like you need to fuck. Life's a little less depressing that way.

Ten minutes later you are in the tub and starting to feel a little better. She has left you to it, knowing again, when you are this bad, you like some solitude, but she does give you a quick show in the shower, with the clear glass walls that let you see everything. _I really love this house._ Once clean, she is gone with a quick kiss and you are left to soak away the pain with a happy little smirk because of how your got yourself here.

* * *

On the counter this morning you find a glorious present. There is a post-it atop the image:

" _G, To show my gratitude for your being a good uncle. If you tell Chase you got this from me, I'll have to punish you (and not in the fun way we both enjoy). Don't fuck them up too much. — A_ "

Pulling the strategically placed note off reveals a woman who looks a whole hell of a lot like your new fellow, standing right beside a little boy who looks a lot like… "Chase, you naughty boy."

Yeah, love doesn't even cover how you feel about this. Today is going to be oh, so very fucking fun!

* * *

It really has become clear in just a few days time that Benedict was not cut from the right stuff to survive on your team. Sure she had a moment here and there, figuring out the patient isn't who she says she is, but for the most part Benedict was grasping. Could still be nerves, but you highly doubt it.

But hey, since she is here, might as well have a little fun with it. Fun thanks to your awesome girl. A girl you are fast wishing hadn't left your team again. Christ, why do relationships have to be so complicated? You do want her in your bed more than on your team.

Smiling at the thought of all you do to her in your bed, you finish setting up the projector screen and dim the lights, just as your team returns to the DDX room.

Chase gives you a suspicious look, "What are you doing?"

"Just letting you all share in the joys of my last trip to Carlsbad Caverns. Which the husband probably would have beaten up if he'd found it in the address book." Motioning to Benedict, "Would you mind standing next to the screen?"

"Yeah, she'd love to become a target for your ridicule," Chase whines.

"She isn't already?" You quip.

Resigned to deal with you, Kelly gets up and stands by the screen.

Foreman still tries to avoid your fun with work. "Endocarditis?"

Benedict chimes in "Normal EKG. No osler nodes."

She isn't completely off today, "Right, Dr. Kelly!" You praise her, in your insincere way.

"Kelly's her first name." Chase defends, knowing you don't do first names with your doctors unless you are making fun of them, or they have ridiculous last names like Volakis.

"What's your point, Dr. Robert?"

"Run an echo," Foreman tries again.

Benedict answers, "I already did. No vegetations. Valves are clear." Interesting. It seems she's getting smarting at an alarming rate.

"Snapilicious! But as I always like to say, it's better to be a helpful Helen than a negative Nelly. So while you're cooking up some ideas of your own, allow me to present theory 2.0 of why Chase hired you. Dr. Kelly, meet your doppelganger." You project the image onto the screen. _Wait that's not the one, that's just gross,_ you think as you find a diseased foot image on the screen _._ "Oh, no. Hold on a second."

 _Ah, there we go!_ The image you meant to show now garners a groan from Chase. "Oh, come on. House!"

Taub is rather amused. "Is that…? That's baby Chase and his mama! That's adorable!"

"Never mind the baby, peep the babe. Note the cheekbones and eye shape." Using a laser pointer to circle them on both Mrs. Chase and on Kelly, makes your point clear.

"They do actually look alike," Taub confirms the obvious.

"I know what you're thinking, Chase wants to sleep with his mom. But who wouldn't hit that if that looked like that? It's a classic case of what Freud called—"

Foreman interrupts you, "Stop. This isn't about Chase's mother."

"You're wrong," Chase spits out.

"What do you mean he's wrong?" You counter sarcastically, "It is about your mom?"

"No."

"So it's about…" you probe more.

Benedict finally grows a proverbially set. "I'm assuming he thought I'd be a good member of the team. And on that subject, what about Legionnaire's? Taub said he saw a rattly old air conditioner in the patient's house."

And again, she has gotten smarter a little too fast for you. Nice it's true, but…

Forman argues back, "I don't care if he saw her licking a petri dish of bacilli, there's no lung involvement."

Countering again, with too much confidence Benedict takes him down a notch, and that's really the tell tale sign. This is so very much not her idea. "All we know is we don't see it. Dehydration from the fever could hide the pneumonia."

But it is a solid idea. "Okay, forget the mom theory. Go water the patient, treat for Legionnaire's."

Foreman knows too, and he's got the look of a guy about to pull a rug from under someone's feet. "Hey, Taub. You didn't write up the AC system. Did you mention it to Kelly?"

"No."

"Did you mention it to Chase?"

"Yeah."

And he goes for the kill. "Whose idea was Legionnaire's?"

Benedict, looks down dejected and comes clean. "Dr. Chase's."

You were going to give it to her for at least acting the part well, hoping her skills as a liar would prove useful, but Foreman did make the point far to painfully clear. "Well, you get major points for trying to trick me. Unfortunately, you lose 'em all for failing. Hold that. Hold that. See, now you're frowning. You can really see the resemblance."

Man she really does look a shit load like Chase's mom. You will totally have to find Allison and eat her out on your next break as a thank you.

* * *

"God, you are way too good at that," she tells you as she pulls her pants back on and you wipe your beard clean, tossing the cloth in the waste bin beside her desk.

"You are good at supplying me with ammo, and I've been told one should positively reinforce desired behaviors." That earns you a smirk. "So, ah, what other awesome dirt do you have on your ex? Tiny penis? No endurance? Short tongue?"

"Not ever going there House. I love you, but the details of my sex life with someone we both know, that we both like, that also still works for you, is one hundred percent off limits for discussion." Figured as much, but can't blame a guy for trying.

"What about me? Do you give out the torrid details of our sex life to our workmates?"

She walks forward to you and places a hand on your still semi-hard crotch, over the fabric of your jeans. "Only to confirm the rumors that you have a prick in your pants to match the prick in your personally."

You lean in, lick her ear and tell her, "If you really meant what you said about needing to work, you'll need to remove your hand Dr. House."

She gives you a sideways, bemused look.

"Just trying it on for size. Feels kind of kinky, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I kinda like it. We can really incite riots amongst the patients. 'Dr. House is a pain in the ass.' 'Well, I thought Dr. House was really nice.' They won't know what to expect."

"So long as we can get them to avoid pronouns. And hey, it might up my online rating on the insurance websites. Wait, that might mean more people will want to see me… Ugg, you know, you always will be Dr. Cameron to me."

She smacks your arm playfully. "Now that is _real_ incentive to take your name. Oh, you know, I bet I could get Gabe to hack it so that my reviews submit as yours. He could _totally_ do that."

"God I love you when you're evil. It makes me horny." You start unbuttoning your shirt again; she unbuttons your jeans.

"You've got five minutes _Mister_ Doctor House."

"Plenty of time future _Misses_ Doctor House."

* * *

Allison is stuck working over again. You'd likely do the same but, with the boys at your home, she has guilted you into going home on time. Oh, you whined that she promised they were more or less independent. Logically, they would be completely fine ordering a pizza and most likely would spend the evening making a lot of noise with their new instruments. But you really, _really_ enjoy blow jobs. Not from the boys, jeez with the dirty mind again, from the person who is holding oral sex ransom if you don't go home and play uncle.

You pull your bike into the garage, turn off the engine and hit the remote to close the door as you swing your leg off the steal stead. _Is that yelling?_ You wonder as the various motor noises subside and you approach the door. As you walk into the kitchen, your theory is confirmed and you not only hear yelling but look into the great room just in time to see Jon punch Tommy across the cheek. "Call me a fag again, asshole! At least I'm not a sick perv like you."

Tommy stumbles back a second as you step farther into the kitchen, toss your bag on the counter and enjoy the show. Boys will be boys after all. Too bad Wilson's not here for you to bet with, because this should be a pretty close fight. Jon's just bigger, but Tommy is fast and wiry, and just about to land a counter blow to the gut… oh no… that was a great fake! He instead lands a left hook that sends Jon staggering backward and… "Balls," that was way too close to your favorite guitar.

You whistle loudly and yelp a "Hey! Shit heads! No instruments will be harmed in the filming of this death match!"

 _Well that didn't work._ Jon regains his balance and lunges forward gut tackling Tommy to the floor. Thankfully away from any innocent instruments. You limp-step nearly at a run into the great room and grab Jon by the shirt and hoist him from the flailing arms of Tommy.

"Enough!" You push him forward toward the couch and Tommy tries to tackle him, but you intercept the younger boy with your arm and turn him hard to face you. "I said that is enough!"

"Let go of me, you fucking sicko!" He shouts at you, red faced. His left eye is going to be black and his blue-green eyes is welled up fighting back tears of anger and pain. _Sicko?_

"What the hell has gotten into you?!" You shake him slightly and push him toward the couch as well, turning to Jon, who has taken a seat already. "And you?"

Tommy sits on the couch and they both scoot to sit as far apart as they can. Afterward there is only silence. Deadly quiet. Sighing, you inform them harshly, "I don't have all night, so get to talking."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _Seems there's a hell of a debate in the reviews. To sack the boys or not sack the boys, seems to be the question. Well, while I get they aren't what the real show is about, in order for me to get House to where I need him to be there has to be interaction with characters outside the scope of canon. And really, as an author, it's kind of part of the fun to create your own characters to play with the canon ones. Perhaps you were the people tossing things at your TV when House had to babysit Rachel. Who knows. But for better or worse there will be characters outside of canon being developed as it relates to House. (And I'm giving you all this hot porn to go with it, just sayin')_

 _Now that isn't to say that I don't want to know what you all really think, because I am also not looking to write a bad story with the only redeeming quality being the smut. I did take all the reviews to heart, both guest and logged in users. I spent a couple of days really agonising over sacking them or keeping them, but in truth, I opened the box, I have my reasons for why and all those reasons have to do with the House/Cameron relationship and House's general life outlook._

So there will be OCs and House will talk to them and get to know them because I believe Cameron would have family/friends and House would have to be with them and might even find himself liking some of them. That is why they real show could never have put them together. The show relied not only on his being crazy, but also his misery. I don't want him to be a lonely misanthrope, so I decided to play goddess of fanfiction and split off into my own alternate timeline, if you will, and start giving him more than Wilson. Because we all know how that is going to turn out. :'(

 _Having said that, there will be plenty of Wilson folks. Just remember that at this point in canon, Wilson is neck deep in his affair with Sam and he and House really didn't interact as much because of that, and I don't think that would change much in this universe. Wilson can be pretty self absorbed when he's getting some, as can House._

 _Anyway, enough of this. Thank you all for reading and reviewing (even those who disagree with me) and a special thanks to atavares who, despite lots of crazy shit going on in her real life, still gave me her time to help talk out the feedback and do her normal beta duties. I am truly thankful for her passion and time._

* * *

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 9**

"You're kidding!" Wilson exclaims.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No. But that means nothing. It's totally something you'd lie about for fun."

"Yeah and I'd be proud of myself if it was something I'd thought to make up, but instead I'm now on the countdown to boring sex. It's only a matter of time before one of them cracks and Allison suddenly remembers that nice girls like her don't have dirty, nasty, comilishious fuck fests like we have, because nosey little bastards might find out and tell people she doesn't want to traumatise."

"Oh, come on House. It can't have been that bad. I mean, you were his age once. I'm sure you found ways to peek at things you weren't supposed to see."

"Yeah, drilling a hole in the wall between apartments wall on that Marine base in the Philippines to watch Sargent Giant Dick bone Roger Whatsiwhosin's super hot mom, while his dad was out on patrol really compares to setting up H.D. webcams, super spy style, and videoing you aunt and your favorite new uncle fucking so you have some permanent material for the spank bank."

"Just because he is curious, and a product of the electronic age, _doesn't_ mean he's some kind of freak. It's normal to want to know what goes on behind closed doors."

"Yeah. _And_ if he was Sam's nephew and _you_ were the one wearing the butt plug and awarding rimjobs to your very cooperative slave, I'd be buying copies and helping him set up distribution." That honest description gets you a sour look, but he assumes that you are being purposely dirty to get a reaction. It's kind of fun to get to tell the truth and have him 'know' it's a lie. " _But_ it isn't _your_ sex life on the line. I've been having the best sex of my life and I don't intend to have the virgin curiosity of a 12 year old boy fuck that up for me. No matter how impressed I am with his ingenuity."

"So what did you do?"

"I told them the first one to breath a word about why the fight really started will be the first to find out that, as a Doctor, I am more than qualified to castrate them in their sleep."

"What did you tell Allison?"

"That Tommy found out about Jon and called him a fag."

"Seriously?"

"It's true. It just wasn't the thing that started the fight. If she finds out that Jon walked in on Tommy cueing up the second of his prize winning homemade pornos — starring yours and hers truly — dick in hand, she'd…" Yeah, you aren't even sure what she'd do, but you know one thing, whatever it is, it wouldn't be good for any male currently living at your home. _And_ she'd likely want to sit down and talk it over with their parents.

Shuddering at the thought, "Fuck that. Nothing good will come from her knowing. It is far past time for these kids to learn that sometimes lying is the best thing for everyone involved."

"So Jon walked in on Tommy _masturabating_ to the video of you and Allison having sex?" He looks at you; eyes, wide in disbelief.

"Well, I guess that was his plan. He'd apparently been happy with what he recorded a few nights ago. Me being me, basically announced we were going to have loud sex and they should put on some music or something. That was a big cue for him to turn on the camera. And I guess he didn't want to get caught, so he didn't watch it in real time for fear of also being too loud. Just saved it for when we were at work. About the time Jon walks in on him, Tommy had just gotten to one of the kinkier moments and starts freaking out, so much he doesn't even care that Jon walks in. Jon decides to see what the hell Tommy is freaked out by and, instead of finding him on pornhub, he sees his aunt tied up, gagged and shoving things in parts of me that he didn't think straight guys liked having things stuck in."

"Oh, god. You weren't joking earlier, were you?" He grimaces and turns a little pale. It's kind of funny, really. But you seriously need his advice on how to handle this. You've got your bases covered for now, but you don't trust either of them at this point. "Look, right now there is a thin layer of mutually safety. Tommy has no desire to have his parents or Allison know. But Jon, as much as he seems a loyal type — having ammo that good on your brother has to be tempting. Ratting out Tommy equates to ratting _me_ out for covering it up and, if I don't tell Allison and a year down the road it all comes out, then she hears it from Gabe or Mariana and they demand to know why I kept this _big thing_ from them… I will lose my ticket to freaky Allison: The Sex Pot land. If I get to keep a ticket to any Allison regions at all, it won't be nearly as fun as my all access pass."

You spit all that one in one big run-on sentence, to the point of nearly being out of breath. Tapping your cane on the ground between your legs you stare at Wilson and wait for him to say something. Anything really. "Dammit, you always want to meddle. Fucking meddle already. I'm giving you permission. Teach me, oh wise one."

"I'm just trying to get the whole picture you just painted out of my mind so it doesn't cause me to permanently lose the ability to get an erection." He shakes his whole body with an "Eww. Look, I get it. You're screwed either way. But… and I know that somehow I am going to regret this advice, I think you are right to gamble on their keeping quiet. There is a good chance they'll never tell an adult. And, honestly, I'm betting that their dad is like us and knows it's just a guy thing and, at worst, would yell at Tommy for show, to make sure he also continues to get laid."

"Yeah." You sigh. Staring at some random paper on Wilson's desk, wondering how the hell you got into this mess. Oh, yeah. You wanted to show Allison you could be an adult and, maybe, not an entirely shit dad. Fuck. Any son of yours will likely be as bad. _Yeah, and I'd make sure he knew this is a good time to lie too._

Wilson snaps you from your thoughts, "You did explain to Tommy that he really shouldn't be entertaining thoughts like that about his aunt, right?"

Looking up, you shake off his comment. "I don't think he is. I think he was just putting that part out of his mind and focusing on the sex part. It wasn't like he was getting close-ups of her, or anything. But he saw way more than he bargained for. So, if anything, he's figured out that real life sex is private for a reason. The question now is how long before Allison figures out that Tommy is uncomfortable around me now, not because I had to 'discipline' him, but because he no longer thinks my kind of freak is cool. Hell, what's worse is who knows how long before he can be comfortable around her. That will totally make her wonder what is up."

"Did you explain to him that what you were doing isn't something for his first date?"

"No. He wasn't in a mood to listen and giving him even more details about our sex life didn't seem like the best move at the time. If _you_ want to have that heart to heart, be my guest. I'm done giving that kid advice. I transferred the video to a thumbdrive then deleted it from his computer. I found all the cameras, with Jon's help. I might set them up in Cuddy's office." At least something good can come from this mess.

"Well, I'm glad you at least got to keep your own porn, and that you are all set to super spy on your boss" he says sarcastically as he rolls his eyes at your move.

Dammit, why shouldn't you keep it. It's hot. She'd never let you do that. But since it's already done… why not enjoy it on those cold and lonely nights? And, hell yeah, you are totally spying on Cuddy. Maybe that is even how Tommy can make this whole mess up to you.

Listen to yourself, some kind of awesome parental thoughts there!

"Good news is they are going home early. Gabe got called back in for some sort of work emergency. He'll be back this weekend."

"Maybe you should just talk to him about it. Then he can make sure word doesn't get to any of the women."

 _Maybe_. He wouldn't want to broach the topic with his wife or sister in a million years either.

You inhale sharply and give Wilson a curt nod as you stand to leave his office. "We should do something. Get away from the girls for a night. Grunt and scratch our crotches some. There's a monster truck rally next weekend."

"I'll look into getting us tickets."

"Only if you can get the good seats. If we don't have to sign a waiver, it's better to just watch it on a big ass flat screen." You say as walk out, heading back to your office to deal with your patient and your team.

* * *

Not surprisingly, more of the patients stories turn out to be lies. Lies, lies and more lies, and now hallucinations. "It's hit her brain, whatever it is." Standing around the MRI images of her brain, your team stares at them, hoping for answers.

"Opacity in the left temporal lobe." Foreman offers.

Benedict adds "It could be nothing."

Really helpful…"Which would get us nowhere. So let's assume it's something," you turn and snark at her, "What kind of something?"

Taub guesses, "Abscess."

Then Chase, "Or Lymphoma or Wegener's. We'd have to biopsy it to be sure. Any of them could explain all of the symptoms."

Benedict, being as unhelpful again "You know, we're assuming everything is connected."

Even Chase can't defend that and turns to her to correct her idiocy "Because it probably is."

She still stands firm, "But her delusions are consistent with mental illness. Bipolar disease, for example. She's 30. It could he hitting her right now for the first time."

Unbelievable. Snapping at her again, "So her mind just happens to fall apart right after her body? Wow, I thought I was having a bad week."

At least she seems to be growing a set, "I know it sounds coincidental…" but damn.

"You know what, I'm back to the Cameron theory. That you hired the dumb version of Cameron so that you could fire her and get revenge."

"Give her a break." Wow, Foreman?

"Oh, you've switched sides? Let me guess, Chase represents the dumb version of Thirteen…" This is just too much. You should fucking get Allison up here. At least if she had a bad idea you'd probably get a grudge-fuck in the supply closet out of it. Really, Foreman caving, of all people.

"I realized if we all just keep pressuring Kelly, of course she's gonna get stuff wrong. It's irresponsible of me to let that happen." Oh, cute. He's back to that idea that he is somehow in a position of leadership on the team. Just for that, he get's next pick for a new hire, and you are just going to fire her on the introduction.

Holding back a smirk at the thought you tilt your head to the side and tell him "You are a true leader of men. Get someone to cut into her head and get me a biopsy." They walk out of the room in hopes of finding Allison with ten minutes of free time to help alleviate the tension.

* * *

Allison pushes herself from the storage room table and pulls up her pants that you had left yanked down to just mid thigh, as you toss away the paper towels and zip yourself up. The coupling was hard and frantic and just what you needed to alleviate the day's tension.

"God, I'm starving now. Lunch?" Her stomach growls on cue to emphasize the statement.

Teasing her, "What? That wasn't filling enough for you?"

"A girl can't live on comeshakes alone."

You limp up to her and pull her into a hug and ask "How do you know. Have you really tried?"

"Tempting." She says with raise eyebrows and a killer smile.

You tuck some hair that has fallen from her tie behind her ear, then release her. "So when do you want to set a wedding date? Aren't girls supposed to be pouring over invitations and building registries at this point in the game."

Grabbing her keys and clipboard, she hugs them to her and answers thoughtfully. "I really want to get this transfer over before I think about it. I rushed my last two. It'd be nice to actually take some time with this one. I'd like it to be the one that sticks. I should give it some extra time and thought, at some point when I am not working doubles every other day and dealing with training a replacement."

"'Kay," you say with more disappointment than you realized you felt. Also noticing that you never used to drop the 'o' from okay until spending so much time with her. "I guess it's all just semantics at this point anyway…" Wilson is right. You're totally whipped. Oh well, so long as she sometimes use a whip to do it, you're okay with that.

"Hey babe, it's both our wedding. If you have time and want to start planning, I'll weigh in when I can. I'll more than likely regret giving you the reins, but what the hell, if I wanted boring I said yes to the wrong man. Not to mention, you _do_ have a very experienced best man. And I know you two have been dreaming of planning a wedding together." She sighs and turns to unlock the the door, before you grab her her by the arm and pull her back against you.

"We could elope at the monster truck rally next weekend! Center of the dirt ring… Grave Digger revving flames as we kiss. Then we could consummate the marriage in the back of its cab as it crushes cars beneath us. All that bumping — we wouldn't even have to do any work. Ever had an orgasm from a monster truck?"

"Sort of. To bad you didn't want it to be a real date. I would have totally fucked you in a truck that night, but I had to settle for my lonely bed and my right hand." Fucking hell, that's a hot image. You are such an idiot. But…

"It isn't healthy to dwell on the past. But we can put it right. I know a guy that knows a guy and he could get us access," you're not sure why, but the idea of eloping at a monster truck rally seems like a fucking awesome thing to do.

"As tempting as all of that sounds, I really need to deal with this transfer first and despite what you might think, I really do want my family to be there," you are sure you look disappointed because she quickly follows with "But, don't write off the idea for after things settle down at work. It does have some fine points."

As you leave and walk to the cafeteria, something about the whole mess just needles at you. _Why won't she at least just set a date?_ It could be for six months from now or six days from now for all you care, but the fact she won't at least point to a random weekend on a calendar, doesn't feel right at all, and you aren't sure why.

* * *

Sitting in front of your computer, you curse your email yet again. If Benedict doesn't pan out as a doctor, wonder if all that editorial experience Chase was so keen on could serve you well if you made her your email bitch? Ah, hell, she'd probably take cases you'd hate and sign you up to speak at every conference under the sun.

"I've heard you're breaking your new toy, rather than breaking her in," Cuddy says as she saunters into your domain and takes a seat across from your desk.

You continue to pretend to be interested in your email as you reply, "If normally usage has that result, it's a sign of an inferior product."

"Then hire the next one yourself to make sure you get one that can withstand the abuse."

Turning to face her, you pull off your readers and place them on the desk as you lean back in your chair with your hands behind your head. "Are you implying I should fire this one? Because, you should know that if Chase loses another Cameron it's going to really hurt team morale."

She leans back comfortably and shakes her head, but you can tell she is suppressing a grin by the twitch on the very edge of her lips. "I can't believe there was a time I wanted to date you. Benedict is seriously nothing like Cameron. Do you really need to continue throwing it in Chase's face? Is Cameron really proud of you for that?"

And the sparing begins. Fun! "No, but _she_ has no delusions about me." Sitting up you tap a finger to the side of your face and fain deep thought. "If you really think about it, comparing the Kellster to Cameron is about the highest praise I can give. Even if she is woefully falling short, she is still on the scale. Not everyone can say they got to play in the show. It's something she can tell her and Chase's grandkids one day." Snickering at your wit, you pick up your ball and start tossing it around.

"You're worse than a cat with a mouse." She continues to shake her head, then remembers "Oh by the way, Lucas told me over lunch you should call him."

Catching the ball once more you set it back down. "Thanks." Then you wonder, "So, you guys set a date yet?"

She shows a little surprise in your seemly sincere interest in her wedding plans, and a degree of caution. She does know you, but you really just need to get a feel for what is normal. Not that Cuddy and Lucas are normal, but it's as close as you've got. "We have it narrowed down. We thought a fall wedding could be really pretty, if we get lucky and pick a weekend that has good color. We found a synagog that has a great courtyard with this path canopied with all of these tall trees. And if weather is a problem, the sanctuary is really beautiful and serves as a backup."

Ugg. You'd not thought about that before. She must want Lucas to convert.

"Doesn't Lucas have to convert for you to have a jewish wedding?"

"The Rabbi was not completely closed to the idea. He doesn't like to do interfaith weddings but is willing to concede if Lucas agrees to raise our children as Jews. But… my mother has been rather persuasive with him on the matter."

Yeah, you're glad you missed out on that. Fuck that, really. You are a proud atheist and there is no way in hell that anyone is ever coming near Little Greg with a blade. But it is fantastic ammo to torture Lucas with.

"Make sure he sends us an invitation to his brit milah," you laugh with a snort, and lean forward to tease Cuddy. "You'd think as a good little jewish girl, you'd be less attracted to uncut Gentiles. Poor Little Lucas. One day he'll be all warm and cozy in his hoodie, the next, snip snip, naked and exposed forever," You say to her sadly.

Disgusted with you yet again, "Can we not talk about my fiancé's penis?"

With mock shock you continue to poke at her, "That's a rotten attitude to have about it. Is he leaving you wanting in the sheets, now that the newness has worn off?"

"No." She states emphatically, staring you straight in the eye. No lie there, and you are not sure if you are happy or sad about it. "Not that it is any of your business. You guys didn't bet on our sex life again did you?"

Oh, pronouns, you are so fun. "No. _We_ don't have a sex life."

"You know what I meant." _Jerk_ , is surely tagged on to that in her mind.

"No. No more bets. You've pussy whipped him out of it."

"Anyway, some of us have work to do," She informs you and stands. "Do something about your new fellow, House. Either figure out a better way to train her or cut her at the end of the case. I don't need the drama with HR. And next time, do the hiring yourself or I'll do it for you."

Cuddy walks out just as Benedict walks in. "Your ears must be burning… aren't you supposed to be observing some medieval torture about now?"

She gives you that now familiar worried look as she glances back a Cuddy, then again to you. "Taub and Chase stopped the procedure. The patient's temperature returned to normal without the blanket. One more of her symptoms gone."

Standing up you, grab your cane and walk with her to surgery. She couldn't be more uncomfortable. Cuddy's demands almost make you want to keep her on a little longer. Things are finally normal between you again, and you love annoying her so very much. Lucas should be sending you thank you cards for getting her riled up. She always is her sexiest when just a little pissed off.

Taub and Chase meet you in the scrub room, the patient remains in the O.R. as you try to figure out the next move. What the hell is going on with this one?

Taub asks, "Could it be Legionnaire's and our treatment worked?"

Benedict crosses her arms and shakes her head, "I wish, but no. We've been hydrating her, and there's still no lung involvement."

"So relapsing, remitting fever," Chase offers, followed quickly by Taub "Malaria. Dengue."

Their words hardly register as you look over her chart. She really should have been much colder. "Why wasn't she frozen?" You pause and look up at their questioning expressions. "This morning? Put a healthy person on a cooling blanket, they'd be chilled like a fine Chardonnay. She's a nice warm Merlot. 98.6 all day."

Benedict offers up the reason and you want to smack your own face. "I didn't want her to freeze."

Goddammit, "So you titrated the blanket. As her fever dropped, you lowered the power," you question more as a statement to confirm the idiocy.

"Exactly," she doesn't even have her mistake figured out now, despite your serious and dower expression. You are done teasing. This is a serious fuck up.

"So it's been on the lowest setting since when?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

Confirmed. She's really that dumb. "Which means we could have known that her fever was gone yesterday afternoon."

Taub pipes in before you can lay into her. "The fever was brief. Sounds like a reaction to the medication… The antibiotics."

"Without vomiting?" Chase counters.

"When did she last puke?" You demand.

"Not since she was admitted," Taub answers.

If you were a betting man, and you are, your money is on a lack of tachycardia. "Two down. Shooting for three," you announce as you barge into the O.R. with no thought to scrubbing up or changing clothes. Your three fellows follow.

The patient is unconscious and still in her chair. The halo of steel still bolting her head into place. Picking up her pacemaker from the table next to her, you look at it for a second before grabbing the wires.

"You're gonna turn her pacemaker off?" Benedict asks. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Nope. But it might be." Pulling the cord disconnects it. Nothing happens. "No tachycardia, there's only the delusions left. If they're even still there."

Benedict goes back to her mental illness stance. "Maybe it is a bipolar disorder. She's female. She's 30 —" This is just wrong. Just backwards somehow, symptoms don't just magically go away. There is always a cause for every effect.

Chase is even losing patience with her. "It's not a coincidence. You've gotta stop doing this."

"But it could have been prompted by the physical symptoms." She holds fast.

Backwards. It's all backwards…

"You couldn't be more wrong. You've got the cause and effect backwards. Start her on haloperidol and Lorazepam. Give it a few hours to take effect. Call me when she wakes."

* * *

Allison is busy. Oh well, you don't think your dick has another in it for the day anyway. But you would have at least liked to have told her about the latest epiphany. Strangely, you do have to give some credit to Kelly, she got you there. But damn, it's her field. You'd think she'd beat you to the answer a million times over. But, perhaps between her getting you there and annoying Cuddy it is worth keeping her on for another case and seeing what happens.

Ah, yes! Wilson is in. You slide over the balcony wall and enter with no knock.

"So turns out my patient is crazy."

"Well, she has the _perfect_ doctor for that."

"So did you manage to score some tickets?"

"Some of us work you know."

"Yeah, yeah. Bald kids, blah blah. Did you?

Rolling his eyes he picks up his phone and hits a few buttons and, a second later, yours buzzes. You open the link from his text and find an electronic ticket. "Fancy. But far less gratifying than having the paper kind. How can I get this signed?"

"You're welcome, by the way."

You nod, stand up, toss your phone back in your pocket and head out of the office without another word. Good ol' Wilson. You can count on him. Now to dig up the rest of the dirt on your patient and her lies.

* * *

"Can you hear me? What are you looking at?" You ask the patient as she looks frantically at a metal table next to her bed.

"The table, it's on fire," she answers and you walk over to it.

"If it was, think I'd be able to do this…" placing you hand on the table "without screaming for my mommy?"

She looks instantly relieved. "Thank you."

"Don't be too impressed," you tell your team. "It's mostly the happy pills you put her on. But she can talk to us now." Turning back to her, "The obviously stupid lie you told us about your hospital records, it turns out to have been un-obviously un-stupid. You thought you wouldn't get caught because you thought that you'd be cured and back home by the time we spoke to the other hospital. Because you knew what was wrong with you. Your doctor was treating you with Risperidone, right? That's why you were in Trenton. You got the stomach pain, you went to see him, he wanted you to taper off."

"Her doctor's not in Trenton," her husband says, still very confused. Poor guy. He's stuck in a shit pit. Hell, you are a fucking great catch comparatively speaking. But then again not much more than a year ago…

Walking around to join him on the the other side of the bed you inform him, "Not the one you know about. If you haven't figured it out by now, your wife has a secret."

He stands, walks to the bed beside you and looks to his wife, "What the hell is he talking about? Is it about your ex?"

Wow. Wonder what it is like to go through life with such horrible powers of observation? "The ex was not so much a secret, more of a lie."

"You weren't married before, were you?" Ah, now he's starting to get it. Guess he just needed a big-ass push.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know about it," she cries.

"Know-know about what?" Well, you'll give him that one. He isn't a doctor and you have three of those in the room who didn't guess much better.

"She's sick. She's been sick for years." Turning back to her, "Maybe it put you on the streets. Maybe that's where you got the broken bones," and then again to him, "She's only suffering from one condition. Everything else is side effects of the drug that was treating it. She stopped taking the drug, the side effects faded. But the underlying disease is still there. Why don't you tell your husband."

"Billy… I'm schizophrenic," she finally admits. And fuck, if she could have just told us that. We'd not even had to tell him. Damn people do some stupid shit just to keep the person they love. Damn, speaking of, you need to beat Allison home tonight just to make sure that the boys have the story straight. But not before you teach another lesson here.

You walk towards the door, leaving the couple to sort out their new found dynamic, lean into Benedict's ear and tell her lowly, but still loud enough that Chase can hear, "That's the kind of thing that a recent psychiatric resident might have figured out."

Now let's get the chart done and get the hell out of here to sure up your own relationship-saving lies. Walking up to the nurses station, you grab her chart and start scribbling in the information.

It doesn't take long before the husband approaches you. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

"Nothing. Her physical symptoms are gone. We'll put her on a different antipsychotic for the mental ones. You can take a nap."

"This is not who I married." Oh, boy… Here we go. More connecting.

"Of course she is. You just didn't know it." There are real reasons you avoid this shit. Especially with a crazy patient. Way too close to home.

"I don't know if I can stay with her," he confesses. Likely hoping you'll either give him some sort of perfect wisdom, or absolve him from guilt. You are neither Solomon nor the Pope, so he is shit out of luck today.

"Sorry, as your marriage counselor, I'm not allowed to talk to you without your wife present," you answer sarcastically, hoping he'll just go away. And to make sure, you walk away first, heading for the elevator.

Of course he follows.

"Just-just tell me how hard it would be for us to handle this. Medically," he pleads.

"Look, if you want me to give you a reason to leave her, fine. Apparently you haven't noticed, but she's got a serious mental illness."

"It's too hard," he admits dejectedly.

No shit. "It's always hard."

You enters the elevator, and he doesn't follow, but as the doors start to close, they open again. Oh thank god, not the husband! Just Chase.

"Okay, so I made a mistake. Kelly will make a fine doctor, but she's not ready for the team."

Took him long enough, but you'd decided to let it ride, so you tell him, "Up to you."

He gives you a confused look, "What? You like her now?"

"Nope. But she got me to the right answer, which none of the rest of you did. If you want to give her another shot, go for it."

He's a bit shocked, but doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth, "Okay. I will."

 _So easy_ , you think as the elevator reaches your floor. "Great. It'll make it easier for you to sleep with her." Leaving, you call back over your shoulder, "Come on, why else would you have hired her?"

"That's not why I hired her!" He exclaims from the car, as the doors close, and you walk away with a smile to find your girl.

You stop by the room of a coma patient on your way and raid it for something girly to give her. Why the hell someone give a coma patient any of this stuff, much less chocolates is beyond you. Grabbing the box, you toss of the lid and pop one in your mouth. Fuck it's stale as hell, so you spit it right back out into the box, close the lid and put it back where you found it. Oh, maybe a rose would be nice. Taking a single red bloom, you leave the room and continue on your journey. Reaching the E.R. you luck out and find her charting at the nurses station. She smiles as you approach, rose in your outstretched arm.

"Case solved?" She asks, as she takes it with a smile, inhaling its scent.

Pleased with her reaction, you ask, "How can you tell?"

"The smirk of the champion is all over your face."

"You know what else I like to have all over my face?"

"Children, what have I told you about rubbing in your awesome sex life at work?" Rebecca groans.

Reaching over the counter, you grab a sucker, shuck it and stick it in your cheek, then grin at her wickedly. "Mmm. But I like being a bastard. It suits me."

That earns you a slap on the ass from Allison, which is a total shock. She is growing quite bold with your now open relationship. "Hey. Not in front of the nurses. I've worked hard on the messaging that _I'm not to be messed with_ , and with one little slap of the ass you are going to destroy _years_ of carefully planned assholiness."

Rebecca butts in. "Oh, it'll take more than that. Mostly, they just bet on whether or not she's actually as bat-shit crazy as you are, now."

Sticking her tongue out Allison continues, "You heading home?"

"Yep. Just wanted to stop by and see how far behind me you'll be so I can figure out dinner."

"That is so sweet and domestic of you. You know that pork thing you made a couple of weeks ago… make that again." She says with a lusty look that makes you a little jealous. You may fatten her up a bit yet. One way or another…

"Oh and thanks again for dealing with the boys last night. I know it was more than what you bargained for, but…"

You shrug her off quickly, "Guys fight. It's just part of being a guy. Hell, I was going to call Wilson over to watch, but then they got way too close to the guitars."

Raising an eyebrow to you, she sighs "Why do I feel like that is not far from the truth?"

"Um… you know me?"

"Yeah. Don't be too disappointed, Tommy will come back around. He just didn't like finding out you're actually an adult." This conversation is getting to dangerous territory quickly. You are starting to be more and more afraid that she is learning the signs of your lies the more time you spend together. _Oh, god! I hope she doesn't develop Mom's sixth sense_.

"Yeah, whatever. I need to go, if I am going to have time to fix the feast m'lady has requested."

She places the rose on the counter then grabs you by the lapels and you lean in to kiss her, getting now familiar groans from the ward. It's all the inspiration you need to continue with the public display. Pulling her into you, you deepen the kiss and entertain the thought of pressing her against the nearest wall, but even you know the limits of what you can get away with.

You release her, breathless and smiling, and with that, she is back to her work and you head home to god only knows what hell tonight.


	10. No One Said It Would Be Easy

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _A big delay I know, but hopefully for a good cause. I've been putting the story through a few more checks and balances of late. Speaking of, some thanks are in order._

 _Firstly, a big hug (is it funny or sad that I typed hugh instead of hug the first time there) to like-waves-on-the-beach for giving me a medical consult, and also for tossing in on the general mistakes and poor wording choices. I really want to get the medicine believable when not using the canon cases, since that is sort of a big part of what House is all about. So having her around to help has been wonderful._

 _Secondly, arctichamster has volenteered to do a last pass for editoral/grammar checks on the whole of this story (starting from the already posted chapters), and maybe, when NaNoWriMo is completed for the year, she will be hitting this and His Little Girl with the editor's whip. Which is nice, because it is hard to see some mistakes when you are neck deep and know what you really meant. So I'll be making minor updates to the chapters, but nothing that should require a reread on your part, but if you do just to remind yourself where we are, hopefully things will seem a little more sured up in the months to come._

 _Lastly, as always, my northern star of a beta, atavares. We hack and hack away at ideas good and bad, and hopefully come out with the better ones on the other side. I kind of decided to take a turn in this chapter, and as always it was great to have someone to hash out the virtue of my ideas with. Love you bunches._

* * *

 **Becoming Us: Chapter 10 - No One Said It Would Be Easy**

Pulling in the drive, you note the car of a visitor. Dan, the barista. Wonder how well that is going over with Tommy? Betting it at least means there isn't going to be a fight when you walk in.

You pull past the lime green modern VW bug with a smirk, and park your car in the garage. Grabbing the plastic grocery bags from the passenger's side, you head in the door and walk into the kitchen to find that dinner has, apparently, been covered. "Guess your aunt will have to take a rain check on the pork tenderloin," you say a little dryly, as you walk to the fridge and toss the perishables in before placing the last few items in the cabinet. Jon and Dan are working in tandem, Jon manning the stove and Dan putting together a tray of crackers, veggies and some sort of dip that might just be homemade. You grab a cracker and dip out a large helping, caring very little that you just wrecked the presentation.

Dan looks at you expectantly as you take in the artichoke dip for a taste. "Ohhh, D'mn. Th'ts mnnn," you moan out. The kid makes more than a mean cup of coffee.

"It's an old family secret recipe."

Swallowing, with a face that Dan really should never see you express, you ask, "Who do I have to kill to get a copy?"

"I was kidding," he says. "I saw it on The Barefoot Contessa. All of her recipes are killer. I'll text you a link."

You agree, having learned more than one recipe from her, and she doesn't distract you from learning them like Giada. Breasts like hers should be illegal on any sort of informational programming — well, other than porn. How's a guy supposed to think? Dan picks up his phone and you head over to the stove to see what Jon is up to.

"This _is_ a family recipe," he says, spooning out a small tasting for you. "Moqueca prawn stew, Bahia-style. The cream sauce is to die for."

He holds the spoon out. You take it from him and blow to cool the mixture as you joke, "We all know how you like the cream sauce," then wonder if you should do that. You had just gotten to the point where you felt you could be yourself, or at least some form of the version of yourself that you _want_ to be in this new life you are trying so hard to hone out for yourself with Allison. The incident makes you question everything, even if Jon was more or less just in the crossfire.

He blushes at the comment and Dan snickers, "From what I heard, the kitchen is full of men who enjoy a helping from time to time. Just some more exclusively than others." Jon blushes even harder and gives Dan a wide eyed look.

It dawns on you as they look at one another what Dan is getting at. Oh, man. They think you are bisexual now. _Well, join the fucking club_ , you suppose. It's just the first time you've gotten the reputation by having sex with a girl and not from hanging out too much with Wilson. The video didn't have sound, so it couldn't have been the dirty talk about fucking your friend. No, they saw the exact part you assumed they saw. Great.

"Alrighty, then." You take the taste; it's also delicious. You nod and raise your eyebrows in approval before handing him back the spoon. "Just a little news flash for you guys. Gay dudes don't have a monopoly on backdoor love. Nothing a woman does to me makes me crave that kind of cream of prawn. Now, cream of the fish, on the other hand…"

"But I just thought… I mean, you were so cool about everything… and then the thing you did that we _never saw_ …" he puts "never saw" in air quotes "and the way you act around your friend…" Jon stutters out, looking as if the realization that he got it wrong is melting his brain.

"Look kid, I don't have to ride the baloney-pony to not have a problem with men who do. I don't have a problem with gay people because there is nothing to have a problem with. If we've learned anything from yesterday, it's that what gets you going in the sheets is between you and the person or persons in bed with you. And yes, Allison could be home any time so you'd do well to remember that you " _never saw_ " you mimic his air quotes "that video. 'What video?' you say. Exactly, my boy." Turning to Dan, "and you, whatever he's told you keep a lid on it when the lady of the house gets in. Castration is the penalty for loose lips in this home. Allison can never know. Capisce?"

"Got it, captain!" He mock-salutes you.

"And none of that shit in my house either. I got enough of that growing up. Now, get back to this awesome dinner you were making to suck up to me, to insure that I keep my mouth shut with your folks about _your_ business _and_ tell me where the king shit-head is. I almost forgot that I need to make sure he has his story straight."

"He's been locked up in his room all day. He came out for long enough to grab food, his bass, an amp and take it back to his room. On the upside, he's learned a few songs really well. But I bet he's going to have a few blisters to show for it tomorrow. Dude forgot you need to build up calluses first, or else he just doesn't care."

"Well, at least he doesn't hate me enough to forgo the awesomeness I gave him."

"He doesn't hate _you_. He hates that he got caught."

"Yeah, and nothing's your own fault when you're 12 going on 20. I remember."

You head through the great room and turn left into the hallway of the bedrooms and offices. There is no sound coming from his room, but the door is still locked and there is light bleeding through from below the door. Lifting your cane, you knock. "You can't hide in there forever. We need to talk. And no, I am not any more excited about that than you, but it is going to happen, so we both need to just deal with it."

Silence.

"You do know I have the keys to all the rooms and I have about as much respect for privacy as you seem to have."

Still nothing.

"Fine. Mope some more. You'd think I was the one at fault here. Just because you got more than you bargained for. I'll give you points for ingenuity. But, you still got caught. And now you have to deal with that. I'd rather it be with me than your aunt, or your parents, but if you just want to lock yourself away, that's just going to make everyone wonder what the hell is wrong with you."

You're sure pulling out the parent card will work, but when it doesn't, you decide there isn't much more you can do unless you make good on your threat to unlock the door and go in anyway. So, after a few minutes of waiting you walk back to the great room and sit at the piano. Might as well practice if you're free from making dinner. You just hope Tommy comes around before Allison comes in. Probably won't be that lucky. The blues are in order.

An hour passes and dinner is past ready, but still no Allison. You are mildly worried that she hasn't texted you, but it wouldn't be the first time she was neck deep in the aftermath of a multi-car wreck or some other crazy thing and couldn't fire off a text. Oh well, you should eat. Hers will keep.

"Looks like your aunt is stuck working again. We should go ahead and eat. Never know how late she might be."

Jon nods and starts setting out places at the bar. You take a seat, and yell back at Tommy again. "Dinner, Don Juan! You should get your ass out here before it gets cold!" Fuck, that sounded too much like your father for your liking, but at least you didn't threaten to keep him locked in there with no dinner, or to kick his ass outside for the night to sleep on the deck.

Damn. You don't _need_ them to like you, but you also don't want to turn out like _him_. Are you in the middle ground? Hard to fucking tell. You never had a childhood experience to help define where that line might be.

It's no surprise Tommy doesn't join you, so the three of you eat without him in a strangely uncomfortable silence. Something just doesn't feel right.

Another hour passes and you are officially uneasy. Jon and Dan have wandered off to his bedroom. You should tell them to leave the door open, but the only thing on your mind is the question of where your fiancée is. You shouldn't be worried. It's normal for the line of work. There isn't always time to call or text.

Still.

Something's not right.

You text her, not really expecting an answer back, trying to not sound worried because that is so not you. 'Jon made dinner. It'll be in the fridge. You'll have to get your pork on tomorrow.'

Ten minutes more. Nothing.

You head back to the piano and your fingers wander idly over the keys as your mind starts to picture the worst of the worst. What is wrong with you? You never get this way.

The music doesn't dissuade your spiraling train of thought. Pulling out your phone again, you fire another text, this time to Rebecca. 'Is A still working?'

A second later, the phone rings.

"House."

"Hey, look, something's happened. Allison is going to need a ride home."

You smack your hand on the top of the piano lid. "God, I knew it!" you exclaim. "Is she hurt? What's…"

Rebecca's voice cuts in calmly, "She's fine, physically. A patient died. It looks like she missed something. She's really upset. You can get the details when you get here."

You hang up without another word and head for the door. Jon, who must have overheard at least part of the conversation, intercepts you when you are nearly out the door. "Uncle Greg?"

You barely turn to answer him as you open the door leading to the garage. "I have to go pick up Allison." Continuing out the door, you smack the garage opener to the right of the door. The motor kicks in and the familiar clack and buzz echoes around the room.

"Is she okay?" he asks after your retreating form.

"She'll be fine. Just lost someone and isn't taking it well." Opening the car door, you lean against the frame for a moment, talking over the top of the roof to Jon, who is standing in the doorway. "You should send Dan home. She's not going to be in the mood for company." With that, you are in your car and on your way out of the garage.

Your phone buzzes as you pull out of the driveway. You pause between reverse and drive to read the text, 'Cuddy's office,' then toss the phone in the seat. You shift into drive, hit the gas, and speed the whole way on the winding road back into town.

Bursting into Cuddy's office, you find her there sitting on the couch next to Allison. Allison's face is a mess, eyes red with tears. She's holding a tissue tightly in her lap and Cuddy's hand is on her forearm as she offers comfort to the younger doctor.

You've only seen her like this one other time, and that was the time she'd killed a patient at his own request. It broke you to see her crying like that then, but it rips your heart asunder now. She doesn't even look up at you, though Cuddy does. "Hey. I was going to call you, but I guess someone else beat me to it."

"Rebecca."

Cuddy gives Allison's arm a final pat and stands. She approaches your frozen frame and takes you by the arm to drag you away for a moment to explain.

"She treated a young woman a week ago. Presented with a laceration to the head and reported a history of lightheadedness. During the exam Cameron stitched the cut and noticed that the patient was short of breath. The patient reported being asthmatic. Cameron gave her a once over, didn't find anything more of note and sent her home. The E.R. was slammed that night and she was already feeling guilty for spending so much time on a minor cut, so she didn't press the issue of the shortness of breath.

"Tonight the girl came back in after suffering a massive coronary; she was DOA. Cameron's team tried to resuscitate with no luck. Cameron recognized her as soon as they rolled her in. She had written the chart up as school-related stress and low blood sugar, but only gave brief mention of the patient having asthma."

"She's lost patients before. What's so special about this one?"

"While Cameron was putting in the stitches, they struck up a conversation. The patient was a pre-med student, in the middle of finals for the summer session. She was pushing herself to finish early, stressing, not eating right. Cameron thought she seemed to have potential and was talking to her about interning for her down the road. Cameron liked her, made a connection, and now she's dead. Cameron thinks it's because she downplayed the symptoms. She thinks she missed it because she was distracted by being overly personal and thought the patient, being a med student, would list all of her symptoms. Thinks if she'd had her change into a gown, there might have been other signs she could have spotted."

"She's probably right," you say. Cuddy nods sadly at your brutal assessment.

"And the girl was only 21. The odds were more than in favor of it being stress and poor eating habits causing the lightheadedness. Asthma explains the shortness of breath. Despite that, Cameron decided to take it on herself to apologize to the family for missing it. The family is talking lawsuit."

"Oh. Fuck."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Cameron feels like she deserves it, and even though I think there wasn't a valid medical screw-up, I had to place her on suspension pending an inquiry." You nod a curt thanks for the information and Cuddy places her hand on your arm. "Now go take care of your fiancée. Take tomorrow off."

She leads you back into the office and only stays for as long as it takes to grab her things. You take a seat on the couch next to Allison, who for her part is still just staring off into space. As soon as Cuddy is out the door you pull her onto your lap to cradle her, and the dam breaks. She sobs against your neck and shoulder as you hug her to your chest. You suck at comforting words, so you don't offer any out of fear the rational you will say one of your scathingly logical asshole remarks. There is no scenario of you talking, while she is this upset, that would make any of this better. So you are taking the Thumper approach for once in your life and just keeping your mouth shut.

Your body tells her what you can't say with words. You kiss her forehead, rub her back, let her cry until she is all cried out. You kiss her again and finally trust yourself to speak. "Let's go home. Get you showered and into bed. You can tell me everything tomorrow."

She nods, wiping tears and snot from her face with her sleeved forearms like a little girl. Unable to stand her display, you grab the box of tissues from the coffee table. "Here."

She takes them with a mouse of a, "Thanks," then wipes her face and blows her nose a few times before saying, "I have to swing by the E.R. to get my things."

All eyes are on her as she walks past the nurses' station; a few look as if they want to approach her but you death-glare them away. Their condolences are only going to make it worse, so they need to stay the fuck away so you can get her home. You nod a quick look of thanks to Rebecca and she nods back and, as you walk into Allison's office, you get a text. You read it as she gathers her things and tosses them in her bag. 'Call me tomorrow. If you need anything just say the word.'

Texting back 'sedative', you return the phone to your pocket as she finishes placing her computer in the bag. She slings it over her shoulder. "I should shower in locker room. I hate getting in the car with hospital all over me."

"My car has twenty years of hospital on it. One more day's worth isn't going to add much to the cesspool." There is no way you are letting her stay here a moment longer. She can shower with you at home, where you can take care of her. Not that you'd let a little thing like public showers keep you from doing it here if she forced your hand, but all parties involved would be much happier if you were home. And, you kind of want to take that first group work-shower to involve sex. It's on your list of workplaces to christen. This is not the way.

"'Kay," is all she says.

Rebecca is at the door a moment a later and walks to her, enclosing her with a hug. "Call me for anything." Allison nods and is about to start crying again, as Rebecca turns to you and takes your hand. "Take care of her or I'll kick your ass." The hand off is made with little notice from Allison and you have what you need to make sure she sleeps tonight.

You lead her to the car and take her home in silence.

Walking into the kitchen, you take her bag. "You should try to eat something."

She takes a seat at the bar, and you put her bag on the counter and root around in the fridge. "Jon made prawn stew, or I can make you a sandwich or—"

"Stew is fine. Just a little. I'm not that hungry."

Nodding, you pull out the leftovers. You ladle some into a small bowl and nuke it for a few seconds before setting it before her with a spoon. She stirs at it for a minute before taking a couple of slow bites and pushing it away. "I can't eat right now. But thank you."

The boys are nowhere to be seen. Your comments before leaving must have warded them off. Good. She doesn't need more people to deal with at the moment. "Let's get you in the shower then." Leaving the dishes to be cleaned up later, you lead her to your room.

Entering, you close and lock the door behind you and really hope that you indeed found all the camera's hidden in your room. _Fucker._

She plops on the foot of the bed, sitting despondently again. So you take the lead, get naked, then, walk to her, reach down and pull up the hem of her scrubs and undershirt together. Her bra comes next and you curse your leg as you realize that you are going to have to kneel to take the rest of her clothes off. Of course, she has a radar for your discomfort, even in the fucked-up state of mind she is in, and stands, pushing her pants and panites off as she does. Sitting back down she kicks her shoes off so her pants can come off entirely and finally strips off her socks.

"Good girl. Now let's go get you clean. A nice hot shower will make you feel better."

"I doubt it. But it can't hurt."

"Hey now. Being negative is my gig."

She cracks a cursory smile and heads to the shower ahead of you. Following closely behind her, you head into the bathroom, then the shower stall. Yet again, you appreciate the ease of entering the walk-in shower built plenty big enough for two. Closing the glass door behind you, you turn on the water, which is hot in an instant thanks to the on-demand water heater, take the shampoo and order her under the spray. She complies, getting her whole body wet, and for a moment stands under it, letting it wash over her head and face. Just as you are about to pull her to you she steps back just enough for you to wash her hair, while still keeping the front of her body under the spray.

Taking your time, you lather up her golden mane, massaging her scalp and pressing your body close to hers. Little Greg doesn't understand appropriate timing and responds to her presence immediately. You do your best not to rub yourself against her in a suggestive way, but you can't avoid contact and do the job.

"All done," you tell her. "Turn and rinse." She obeys, and you admire her form under the spray. She steps forward, raising her hands to wipe the water from her eyes, her head bowed. As soon as her eyes open, you know exactly what they'll focus on, and you tell her "Sorry. He has a mind of his own. I'm not really—"

Grabbing your shaft firmly, she says "Shhhh," and begins a steady rhythm. "Let me take care of this for you."

Pleasure shoots through every inch of your body, but your mind is telling you that this might not be what she needs. Despite your body's protest, your hand takes hers, quelling the motion. "You don't need to do this. You're tired, you're upset, and my dick is just being a dick. Let me finish washing you and get you in bed for some _sleep_. We have all weekend for this" you nod down at your hard-on, "when you are feeling more like yourself."

"I just want to feel something, _anything_ , other than what I feel right now. Greg, baby, please let me feel something." With that she starts stroking again, pushing your hand to the side and, god, it is killing off the last little bit of your resolve. There is no way you are going to last; this should be about _her_.

"Oh, god, Allison! Stop that and come to bed with me. Let me make love to you." Wow, you really are turning into a sap for her.

"No. I need to do this. I don't want to feel pleasure for myself right now. I need to give someone else pleasure. I _need_ to make you come, Greg. Come for me. Please." That is your undoing. _Men are so weak_. You step back and she steps forward in tandem until you are pressed against the back wall of the shower and, a minute later, your spray joins that of the water. The euphoria is quickly followed by a twinge of guilt. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. It wasn't supposed to be for you.

"Okay, little girl. Now that you've had your fun, let's get you to bed."

"'Kay," she replies, and as quickly as the vixen was there, she is replaced again with the sad woman in front of you.

Dammit, you are no good at this. _I bet Chase would know exactly how to handle this kind of thing. Why is she with a fuck-up like me?_ That doesn't matter, shit-head, she _is_ with you and it's your turn to pick up the pieces. Just don't be you for a day or two, think you can handle that?

"First, let's finish this," you pick up the soap and wash her upper body, then take advantage of the seat on the side of the stall to sit so you can wash her lower half. Once she is lathered you ask her to hand you the detachable shower head, so you can rinse her. When she's clear of soap you drop it, letting it spray the side of the wall and pull her to you, kissing her stomach.

She allows it for a moment, but the second you move lower she stops you. "Baby, I'm tired. Let's just go to bed."

You genuinely want to return the favor, but she isn't in any state of mind to argue with. "Okay. Give me a hand?" She reaches out a hand and you take the shower rail with the other and stand. She turns off the water and steps out, grabbing a towel and handing it back to you, you wrap it around your waist and take the one she grabs for herself and start drying her.

Ten minutes later you hand her a pill and a glass of water. "Take this."

She looks down at it. "A sedative? I don't think I'll need—"

"It'll help you stay asleep. Trust me. Take it." You bite your tongue from saying 'you should know better', because, yeah that is just the kind of asshole thing that will fuck her up again.

She concedes and you tuck a damp strand behind her ear as you take back the water glass. "That's better. Now get in bed."

You pull back the covers and tuck her in like you would a child. Well, like you remember being tucked in as a child. You walk around to your side and get in beside her and she wraps herself around you the minute you turn out the lamp. "It'll be alright. I promise."

"Not for Vickie." You assume that's the dead patient.

"When Hanna died, you were so strong for me. You told me, and rightfully so, that 'We don't always get to have the luxury of personal detachment. And we are going to lose people. That's the job.'"

"And _you_ always told me, if I can't handle that part of the job then maybe I should work in a lab."

" _You_ do not belong in a lab. _You_ are a good doctor. You're on the verge of being a _great_ one, This is just—"

Interrupting you, "It was different with you and Hanna. You did everything right. She died anyway. She was dead before you even came into the equation. You were, unfortunately, caught in the undertow. I missed something obvious, because I was too busy making _friends_ and not doing my job. Or, I should say, not doing my job the way _you_ taught me. I didn't truly observe her. I didn't let her symptoms and her body tell me what was wrong. I struck up a conversation with a girl who wanted to be an immunologist, and didn't question anything. I didn't follow my instincts and push for more. I trusted her and I failed. She died. It was completely preventable and I didn't prevent it."

"We're all human, Allison. Question is, what will you do with the experience?"

"You remember my first day at work? We had that kid, Jason maybe? The names all run together after a while." She ideally twirls a finger in the patch of hair on your chest. "You told me that I was either going to let my compassion ruin me or my observation skills turn me into something that 'might pass for a doctor.' But you don't see a world in which both sides can cohabitate in a way that would make a doctor of any worth outside a lab."

"It was a compliment. You were my beautiful puzzle then. This great big brain, all packaged up in a prom queen body, with the heart of Snow White. I figured if your Prince Charming never showed up to knock you up, and you could get over the urge to kiss birds and befriend every stray that came across your path, you might grow up and be the savior you need to be."

"And, yet, I failed to see something so basic that it cost a 21 year old girl her life. I'm no savior. I'm—"

"A tired, overworked, _doctor_ who needs to go to sleep. It will be better in the morning." A lie. But hey, everybody does it.

She's quiet for a moment, then giggles sleepily. "You know, my parents' friends nicknamed them Snow and Charming? Because they were apparently such over the top lovebirds and Mom kind of looked like the Disney version of Snow White in her twenties. They even did this costume contest once, I have the picture somewhere, it was pretty epic."

"See, I knew you were a princess."

"Who does that make you?"

"All the guys in Disney movies are pussies. I'm more of a Frank Bullitt."

"Yeah. He was hot," she yawns. The meds must be catching up with her.

"And bitchin', you can't forget bitchin'," you say, and realise she may have fallen asleep. You kiss her head and wait for sleep to find you too. Hopefully tomorrow will be easier. You doubt it.

* * *

"Yeah, she's out doing yard work, planting flowers. Says it helps. I think we might need a truck if she keeps it up. Apparently she really, _really_ likes Lowes." Holding the phone to your ear, you watch her from the kitchen window, planting flowers along the fence line. If you didn't know why she was there, you'd enjoy how pretty she looks getting dirty with her cute little sun hat, tattered jeans and faded Nirvana t shirt.

"So the autopsy came back. Dilated Cardiomyopathy," Cuddy informs you.

"No shock there."

"No." Cuddy replies sadly. The symptoms fit in a roundabout way. If she'd had looked harder, if she's forced the girl into a gown, she would have seen more. Sure, the odds made it highly unlikely, but she is better than that. You made her better. It will be another hard lesson learned. Luckily, you don't have to be the one to reinforce teaching it this time.

Cuddy continues briefing you on the events that will follow, "Sanders is leading the inquiry. Mason will be her law council. Mason wants to prep her on Monday. They'll have the initial review with Sanders on Friday. You know the drill beyond that. You've been through it enough times."

Far too many. But not for this. Normally, it's for overtreating, not under treating. By the time you are done, the dead ones' families' are well aware you've run ten times the tests they'd get under any other doctor. It's when they survive and get the bill, that it becomes an issue.

Wait a minute… "Mason… the one with the dick face?" You groan.

"I don't even know what that is supposed to mean, House."

"It means he has a face that looks like a dick and he's an idiot." You really, _really_ don't like that guy. And the feeling is mutual. He'd let you hang if it wasn't for a fear of Cuddy cutting his paycheck. "I'm coming with her to the meetings."

"Prep fine, review no. You should know that she can't have moral support at the review."

"You know that last time I was in a relationship and had a review, my girlfriend was the lawyer. Besides, who said anything about moral support? I'm an expert medical procedure witness."

"Stacy wasn't really your girlfriend the last time."

"Meh, semantics. We were having sex."

"Yeah, well, no can do. How's her state of mind? Better than yesterday I hope?"

"Hard to tell. She's not really talking. She slept in, then came out and asked me to drive her to Lowes. She bought gardening tools and a few hundred dollars worth of flowers and mulch. My trunk is going to smell like shit for a month. She had Jon and Tommy help her carry it to the yard, before bribing them them off to the mall for the afternoon and hasn't been in the house since. I took her lunch. She had three bites then left it on the deck and went back to work. I figure she wants space, so I am giving it to her."

"You know House, I'm actually impressed. She really _is_ bringing out the human in you."

 _Oh, god, woman why can't you just leave it with no comment. It's embarrassing enough as it is._ "And your ass looks extra fat in whatever you're wearing today."

"That's more like it."

"I live to serve, Mistress." You pull the phone away and hang up, still looking out the window at Allison trying to bury her guilt along with the roots of a rose bush. Unfortunately, you think that the more accurate metaphor might be she is allowing her guilt to take root in her mind as well as her heart.

Yesterday, fine. You understand that. It was an overwhelming emotional reaction. Today? Today it's logic. Her mind is at work, reasoning all the things she missed. Confirming she shouldn't have missed them. Planting the self-doubt deep, adding fertilizer and watering it. Planting flowers is bullshit therapy. What she really needs to do is go out and get smashed.

Two months ago, you could have done that for her. Now… well now that comes with a whole other can of worms and more guilt for her later, because you won't be able to not drink too, then who knows what the hell you'll decide to do. You both could wake up strung out on god knows what if you are in charge of her pity-party. This is what Wilsons are for, and her Wilson is … "Rebecca, hey it's House. Listen. There's something I need you to do."

* * *

It was a fight, but not much of one. Allison is so apathetic right now, it didn't take much for her to cave in when her friend showed up to steal her away for sorrow drowning. Hopefully a night of self-abuse will help make her feel she is paying whatever price she thinks she has to pay for being human while being a doctor. A combination you tried to teach her was dangerous. A combination you secretly admire her ability to balance, but one you knew would eventually demand payment. It has always held true for you. Why wouldn't it for her? Damn, always being right about this shit anyway. You wish you weren't right sometimes.

Your night is just about as depressing. You want nothing more than to be with her, but your own weaknesses won't allow it. Whether you want her to or not, she is going to feel bad about getting drunk while with a recovering addict. Keep telling yourself she came into this relationship eyes wide open. For all the good it will do.

Instead of helping her drink herself whole again, you are on nephew duty. You hear four car doors shut and you assume that is Wilson and Sam, with the boys. Called him to pick them up from the mall a few hours ago, and begged him to take them to his place for dinner so Allison had no excuse for not going out. He's probably a much better uncle than you are anyway. And at least he knows to not let Tommy out of his sight now.

You do have to give both boys some credit. They are very aware of how unhinged their aunt is. Both jumped to get her anything she asked for. A few years younger, and they'd likely be selfish pricks about getting pushed aside for the day. And, for at least an hour in the morning, you didn't even think about the crazy shit from the day before. Maybe it's not so bad afterall.

"Hey," Wilson greets as you let him in the front door. You say nothing as you stand aside and let the party past you, into the great room. "So we ate dinner already. I brought your favorite."

He holds up a bag from Mangione's, which you could already smell, and you stomach rumbles. "Thanks," you offer up. Most uncharacteristically for you, and now you've opened the floodgate of Wilson concern. He glances back to Sam, who puts a hand on either boy's shoulder. "Okay guys, I'll give you that chance to redeem yourselves in _Left 4 Dead_."

"You're on. This time you are going down," Tommy boasts. Not likely. Sam is a cold hearted gaming bitch.

"Big talk for a little man," she replies as they head to the family room. You lead Wilson to the office to talk privately while you eat dinner.

The office had finally come together. All your books, thanks mostly to Allison, were shelved on the dark-stained oak built-ins that spanned the length of the wall to the right of the entrance. They were meticulously organized. Melvil Dewey would have been proud. Your two desks had similar dark hardwood finishes and worked well together in the space. Hers was in front of the window on the far wall, as you enter the room, and yours to the left of the door. Her couch was tucked in the middle, giving you a cozy place to sit and read, or toss your ball at the wall that now housed a whiteboard and markers. It was a snug fit, but a useful and comfortable layout for the shared space.

He sits on the couch and you at your desk. A few moments of silence are granted, to unpack your lasagna and take a couple of bites, before he barrels forward. "So she's taking this one really hard, huh?"

Swallowing, you stab around at your food as you answer. "Yeah. She missed it. She knows it. And now she's all fucked up over it." He crosses his arms and you take another bite.

"Well, with support like that from her fiancé, no wonder she feels so great."

"Hey," you defend with your mouth full, "I don't say that shit to her face, at least not anymore." Chewing for a second, you swallow and continue "I don't need to. She's saying to herself enough. I've, believe it or not, been nothing but nice and caring. Do you have any idea how fucking hard that is for me?"

"Yeah, I do." He shakes his head, slowly and watches you as you eat for a moment. "Wow. You really do love her."

Rolling your eyes with a sigh at his obvious observation, your response drips with derision. "What gave it away? The house? The rings? The willingness to not kill her brother's demon-spawn? The fact I postponed the delivery of her bitchin' drum set a few more days so she doesn't feel guilty for not being happier when she sees them the first time?"

He shoots you a conniving look. "Pretty sure the first sign of the apocalypse was the smug look on your face when you thought there was a chance in hell she might be having your baby."

"Shut up," you hate when he has the better ammo. "I was just _really_ looking forward to banging my first pregnant chick." You return, with some embarrassment, and a twinge of disappointment, to your food. Willson looks like the cat who ate the canary. A few more bites and you are over it, and push it away from you to the back of your desk. The lack of appetite seems to be contagious.

"So you sent her off to get drunk?"

"Yeah. I think she needs to feel bad, and nothing like getting smashed out of your head to help with that. But more than that, she's thinking too much. She needs a break from thinking so she can get over the blame game and move on. Destroying her career isn't gonna help anyone and it isn't gonna raise the dead. But, she's caught up in this idea that her prick ex-boss was right six years ago and she should give up real doctoring and get to a lab." You laugh sarcastically. "Boy, _that_ guy was a _jerk_."

He raises both eyebrows and slowly nods in agreement then, jumps straight to the heart of the matter. "What do you really think? Should she've figured it out?"

If it were most doctors you'd say 'par for the course' and go on. But if Cameron were most doctors, she would have never made it on your team for more than a week. Kelly, yeah, _she_ might do this, and you wouldn't blink. Cameron? Cameron is better. Way better.

"I wasn't there, and _she_ isn't talking to me about it, but from what I've heard, yeah. There was enough evidence to warrant sending her up for an echocardiogram, if for no other reason than to rule the heart out. Shortness of breath was noted, despite the history of asthma, paired with syncope Cameron should have checked for swelling in the ankles, and would have found it, but the girl started talking doctory in the middle of the diagnosis, downplaying the symptoms. Which lead to Cameron losing focus on the symptoms. She got friendly, asked what the girl's major was, then what field she wanted to work in, and it turned into a little immunology tea party after that, and she never followed through with the full diagnosis."

"Do you realize you just called her Cameron?" Wilson looks confused.

"That's her name." Should clear things up a bit for him.

"Not to you anymore. Especially, not away from work."

"That assessment _was_ about work. Therefore that assessment was about _Cameron_." He gives you that look that makes you need to confess. It's something in the way he tilts his head that does it.

Sighing you explain, "I can be a hard-assed bastard to Doctor Cameron. I don't think I can anymore to Allison. If I don't make the distinction, I don't think I can compartmentalize things in the way I need to to make this work. This is also why I don't push her to come back to my team. Because I'm not sure we would survive the constant dual-personalities."

"I don't disagree with that. It _is_ interesting, though." He leans back in the couch seat, his arms raise and he locks his hands behind his head, self-satisfied.

Rolling your eyes and and flipping your hair, "You don't love me for my good looks. You love me because I'm not boring, remember?" He smiles for a moment then, has a thought, and leans forward again, his tone more serious.

"So, I talked to Tommy. I think this whole thing with Allison has shaken him up. He's doing everything he can to try to make up for it. He's terrified that if she finds out after everything that happened at work, that she'll break down and it will be all his fault. He does a good job of hiding it around other people, by acting like a cocky shit, but he and I talked it out for a while. I think he's ready to talk to you about it."

"Damn. You really should be doing this uncle shit and not me. I suck at adulting."

"I just have a lot of experience with someone who is a whole hell of a lot like him. Besides, I think you've done a really good thing for Jon." Funny, how the both of you seem to do so well with the opposite personality.

"And he and Tommy aren't still trying to kill one another?"

"Nope. Tommy made up for it in his own way. Told Jon he was glad he was finally getting some action and thanked him for managing to do it while still leaving all the women for him."

You snort out a laugh. "Sounds about right."

"Look, Allison's going to be fine. Cameron too, for that matter. The E.R. was good for her. And we all get too close from time to time. We aren't gods. We aren't going to catch everything."

"Speak for yourself. I revel in my god status."

* * *

You stay up and read. It's nearly 3:00 a.m. before the front door opens and Rebecca returns a staggering, giggling, completely and utterly shit-faced Allison Cameron to you. "Just what you ordered." You stand and walk over to Allison who is leaning against the kitchen bar, trying to look like she isn't fucked up and failing completely. As soon as you get in three feet of her, she staggers forward. You catch her, rather ungracefully, and she looks up at you.

"Goddamn you have the _bluest_ eyes. I just wanna fuck th' hell outta ya every time you look at me."

Rebecca, who doesn't seem to have more than a light buzz, waves and heads for the door. "Have fun! And remember _you asked_ for me to bring 'er back this way."

"And you didn't disappoint." With that, Rebecca leaves her to you and you look down suspiciously as Allison's normally deft fingers try, unsuccessfully, to unbutton your blue top.

"Damn, you _ARE_ blitzed!" You laugh. Good. She's going to feel like complete shit tomorrow. Perfect. Now, you just have to get her in bed without her puking all over you and everything will be golden.

"Um. These buttons suuuuck! Fuck 'em." She gives a go at trying to rip your shirt open. Wow, she is _not_ a sexy drunk.

"I'm afraid there isn't goin' to be any sex for you, little girl." You take her gently by the wrists, pull her hands down and turn her towards the bedrooms.

Twisting her head back toward you, as you gently push her the direction of your room, she protests. "Oh, com'on House! I know you'd like ta tap m'ass."

Precious, really, really fucking precious. If you only could ever get to use this as ammo. But you enjoy your balls. "I never go to mass. And I'm _House_ now?"

"Oh, sorry, Gregy-weggy. I forgot, you're _my_ man now, so you're Gregy and I'm Ally. Gregy and Ally sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, second comes marriage, here _comes_ Greg… fuck yeah baby, I want you to come aaaall over me and lick it off."

"Wow. The chant didn't go that way when I was your age, _Ally_ " You snicker. You've never seen her like this. It is a telling experience, no doubt. "You do realise your nephews are still here, and after that _lovely_ performance, there is no way they are still asleep?"

"As if they don't know… I like you. Those eyes are so very, very blue…"

You are completely amused now. "So I've been told."

"Sometimes, you'd look at me, with _those_ eyes when I was first on your team, and god I'd have to spend my lunch break sneaking off in my car for a quick little _rubdown_ before I could go let you look at me again with them. Could stare into your eyes forever. I could live there. So long as I could fuck you there. Your cock is _ah maze ing._ You fucking me with that cock while I look… mmm those eyes…" She says as you lay her down in bed. She looks up to you hopefully, but there is no way you're fucking her in this state.

"Tell you what. If you can manage to undress yourself, with no help from me, without falling on your ass in the process, I'll look you in the eye and give you the deep dicking you are so very _gracefully_ demanding. But if you can't, you let me undress you, tuck you in and then you go to sleep. No sex. Just sleep."

"Huh, you got a dealio, Housey Pooh Bear." She pokes at your waist, then sits up precariously attempting to unbutton her purple blouse.

"And you have to stop calling me Housey Pooh Bear."

"Fine, Gregyore," she replies, finally managing to get a couple of buttons free, looking far too proud for the amount of effort.

"You _do_ have a thing for name modification while intoxicated. It could be honed into a talent one day." She is still trying to figure out the third button on her blouse. You exclaim, "Okay! Time's up. Beddy Pooh, for you and Gregy too."

"Awwwah, Grrreeegg I really want ta have sex. If I wanted a good boy, I would still be with Chase. I don't want Chase's nice-guy, never-wanted-to-have-work-sex, boring sex. I want to get fucked by sexy vigilante Doctor Wouldn't-leave-a-drunk-girl-to-her-own-devices House."

"You totally have Chase and I confused. I don't fuck girls who are fucked up. And _you_ are. Completely. Fucked. Up. Beyond the whole, you're not qualified to give consent thing, which some people seem to get all confused on, we have not yet ventured into the stage of our relationship where we have bad sex. Hell, we haven't even gotten to it's-still-pretty-good-but-not-great sex. And I have no plans of starting that downward trend tonight."

"Fine!" She pivots and turns to storm to the bed. Bad move. The motion makes her nauseated. You pick her up, deal with the pain that shoots through your leg to get her in front of the porcelain god just in time for her to offer it her full prayer.

You hold up her hair like a good lover should. "That's right. You'll feel much better in the morning after that. I think this is a milestone for us. We've both officially held each other's puking head up. Fun! We can take pictures and… doesn't this change our facebook status or something?"

She gives you a sick look laced with daggers as you reach past her to flush. Those baby blues of yours aren't so blue now, you are guessing. Grabbing the edge of the tub, you use it to hoist yourself up to the edge off the floor, then stand up. Steadying yourself on the cabinet of the double skinks, you offer her a hand up. "Come on. Up you go." With a grunt she is up. She grabs on the edge of the sink for dear life and you take a water glass and fill it for her. "Here. Drink this, then bed. You'll feel just how you've been wanting to in the morning and we can go get pancakes and coffee."

"Don't talk about eating," she begs, takes a swig to rinse her mouth and drinks down the rest. Placing the empty glass on the counter, she slowly staggers toward the bedroom, then back again to the toilet, this time struggling to unfasten her pants. "Greg baby, I _really_ need to pee."

Rolling your eyes and taking a deep breath to stifle your amusement of her sudden burning need to piss, you help her get her pants down and make sure she sits squarely on the seat, before she lets out a stream of piss that sounds like it ought to be coming from a horse. "Damn. That's impressive! I wish I could just let it rip like that."

"Gawd, I felt like my bladder was gonna explode!" She grabs twice the toilet paper she needs, wipes, stands and manages to pull her pants back up on her own, but doesn't bother fasten them before stumbling again towards the bed, leaving you to flush for her.

You pass her along the the way so you can help her out of her clothes. You pull back the covers, she falls in, flat on her back, you unzip and yank off her boots, peel off her jeans and top, then tuck her into bed in her underwear. She's out before you have the cover over her. Stroking her hair gently, you hope this does the trick, and that it's worth having to see her like this for a reason that prevents you from using it against her later. Hell, that comment about Chase alone is worth gold. All a waste, but worth it if it works.


	11. Roller Coaster

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _Don't want to belabor too much every chapter, but I do want to send out a continued thanks to my betas: atavares, like-waves-on-the-beach, and arctichamster. It's kind of cool that three random folks in the internet universe care enough about my House ramblings to give so much time and effort to make them better._

 _Also, I've been remiss in thanking my reviewers, in my notes, anyway. I have had some fantastic conversations and even gleaned some ideas from them, so drop me a note if you feel the urge. I am always up for random House talk, or sex talk, or House sex talk, or sex with Hugh Laurie talk Oh and fuck me, if you haven't been watching Chance, then shame on you. Because, damn the things Hugh Laurie did with his mouth last episode just melted me and my lovely Chance watching partner atavares into lady-goo. My husband's mouth might never recover from the aftermath. :P_

 _And with that I leave you with the next installment of my story._

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Roller Coaster**

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." You nudge on her at 11:00 and hope she isn't a complete pain the ass. There's a lot to do today.

The figure in the bed doesn't budge, and in truth you'd like to let her sleep but you have Nolan today, and the boys have to go home. Fuck if you're doing all that by yourself. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you lean over her and kiss her cheek, and whisper in her ear. "Wake up, Allison. You need to shower and get ready to return Thing One and Thing Two."

A muffled groan escapes her lips and she rolls onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes. "Oh, god." Her voice is rough and low. It's kind of sultry, really. Too bad her breath smells like puke.

"God had nothing to do with it. Pretty sure it was guilt and vodka. Now, up." Standing, you grab the covers and yank them off of her quickly and mercilessly, letting the chill from the cool room assault her nearly naked form. Yelping, she tries to counter, but you have too great of an advantage on her in this state. "Look, if you really still feel that bad, I'll call Nolan and cancel. Gabe can come here instead of meeting us half-way."

She grabs the covers stubbornly and pulls them back up, covering her head. "Fine. Call them. I don't feel like getting out of bed."

That surprises you. It's not like her to put herself above others. Betting it's just her pickled brain trying to bluff, you call it. "Okay. You're right. You should sleep. I'm being a jerk. I'll go call them."

Leaving the room, you head to the kitchen and start whipping up a late breakfast. Her little display will cost you eating out. Fifteen minutes later the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes lures the boys from their rooms, but still no Allison.

"Is Aunt Allison going to eat?" Jon asks, taking a seat at the bar.

"Dunno. She's not feeling so great today," you reply as you place a plate of food in front of him.

"Are you taking us home, then?" Tommy follows, and you give him a plate as well. Seems that both of you are taking the ' _maybe if we just ignore it ever happened, it will just go away_ ' approach to the whole video debacle. Given the recent development, and Wilson's intervention, you are totally okay with that for now. It's hard to forget it completely though, thanks to the shiner around his left eye.

"I'm not leaving her alone like this. If she doesn't get up soon, I'll call your dad to come pick you up." You pull up a stool and sit across from them at the bar. The three of you eat your breakfast in silence.

Jon offers to clean up, enlisting Tommy's help. "Come on, shit-head. Help me clean this up for Uncle Greg, so he doesn't have to deal with it."

12:30. No way you'll make your 2:00 appointment now. She was serious and now you are starting to get seriously worried. Apparently, your plan didn't work the way you thought it would. Hopefully, you didn't make it worse. _Goddammit, this relationship shit is too hard._ Yeah, but being alone in your own pathetic misery is far worse. Allison is resilient. She'll get over it. You just need to continue not being a dick. You can do this. You've done it before.

Haven't you?

 _Ugg._

Your iPhone is lying on the counter by the garage entrance. Picking it up, you find Nolan's contact and hit the office number. Not surprisingly, it goes to voicemail. You leave a quick message canceling your appointment and follow it up with a short text to his cell, just in case. Next, you call Gabe.

You had talked with him yesterday about everything, when he called Allison to coordinate picking up the boys. She had been working outside without her phone, so you answered when you saw Gabe's image and name flash on the screen as it rang. She only talked to him for a couple of minutes, then went back to digging in the dirt.

Gabe, being a Cameron, is overly understanding and agrees to come to your home to pick up his sons.

With that business all squared away, you grab a mug, pour her a cup of coffee with cream and head back to the bedroom. She's still in bed, turned on her side with her back to the door. You suspect, because of the rate of her breathing, that she is not asleep. "Gabe will be here in a couple of hours. I left Nolan a message _and_ I brought you _coffee_. You should probably drink water or Gatorade though, but why do the smart thing when there's coffee? I even used the whole beans with the grinder, like you do."

Getting no response, you place the coffee on the nightstand, crawl into bed and curl up behind her, not sure what else you can say. Maybe, you simply need to hold her for a while. The move opens the floodgates and you pull her tighter to your chest as she sobs. "Hey, I know your coffee is better, but I don't think mine is quite that bad."

That earns you a chuckle, and you let out a relieved breath. She rolls over, and gives you a small smile. "I'm sorry. I'm a wreck." She wipes her eyes with her fingers, and starts to give you a kiss.

"Yeah, you're a wreck and your breath reeks." You divert your lips from hers and make a childish stink face.

She covers her mouth with her palm, muffling her apology, "Sorry."

"I'm not going to lie and tell you that if you get up, take a shower, and brush your teeth, that the world is going to birth out unicorns shitting rainbows, or that we'll suddenly burst into song and dance down the lane, cane a-twirling. However, you won't feel any worse, you _will_ smell a lot better, and maybe I'll play you a song on the piano."

* * *

You've never been more ready to go back to the hospital than you are this morning. Allison was on an emotional roller coaster all weekend. She put on an incredible show for her brother. It was so convincing you thought maybe your plan had worked and her mood would only improve as her hangover wore off.

As soon as Gabe pulled out of the driveway, she was back to the yard and back to not talking.

The act was so convincing and the change so dramatic, you had a terrible knot in your gut, wondering how many times she might have done that with you while on your team. You needed to ask her. It was a new puzzle piece.

Only you didn't. You couldn't. You promised not to crush her, and drudging up all the people your team couldn't save while she is in this state of mind might do just that.

You decided to help her with the yard work instead. Managing to scoot around on your ass with a hand shovel digging holes for her, so she could place flowers and spread mulch. There was another trip to Lowes, when you ran out of plants and mulch, and this time you called Wilson and Sam to help pull it all out of the car and carry it to the side yard, opposite the family room and kitchen. They stayed to help finish the plantings along the fence line bordering the driveway and afterward for dinner.

She acted mostly normal again; her wall with Wilson was not as high. You know they share having this deeper connection with their patients. Only Wilson is as often an angel of death as he is an angel of life. You hoped that having him here for her would help.

As soon as they left, she sank back to the pit. It was exhausting to watch. You've always just reflected all of your pain outward. Damn anyone who is in the way. But not Allison. She's the other side of the coin. Part of you was happy knowing she felt safe enough with you to let you see past the lie. Part of you wished she'd save you with the lie, hoped she might wear the mask just a little longer for you so that you didn't have to feel it all too. Because that's what happens now. You feel it because she does.

The most confusing part came at night.

Something switched on when you were alone in bed, and she was on you like white on rice. The first time, in the shower, you didn't think much of it. It was interesting, but seemed normal enough. You were caught off guard and stopped thinking after she worked you over. The drunken episode didn't raise the flag either, because she was wasted. You are a horny drunk, it wasn't much of a stretch to find her to be one as well.

But Saturday night set off sirens for you. You were in bed first, not expecting more than to hold her again, after the long and silent night you had once Wilson and Sam left. At least you talked her into taking a hot bath with you. Desiring no more than feel her body against yours, you decided to sleep naked. She took note immediately when she came into the room from brushing her teeth, let her towel drop and sauntered to the bed, crawling up your body from the foot of the mattress.

You have always been better at expressing your emotions physically. She was beautiful, and graceful as a cat, creeping up your body, stopping to take you in her mouth. Oh, and you were so hopeful in that moment, her warm, talented mouth doing all the dirty little tricks your dick loves. But when you called for her to stop and kiss you, she just amped up her fervor. Sucking you like it was the last act she needed to do before leaving the earth.

And your dick's brain won again.

After your climax, she gave you a kiss, told you she loved you, and migrated to her side of the bed to kill the lights. When you caught your breath, you curled up behind her, kissing her neck, in an attempt to return the favor, but got a cold shouldered response in return. She didn't want you to make love to her, or to even just help her to get off. You were concerned and disappointed, but you're not a rapist, so you let her be without argument.

The next night was a disaster. You were expecting her behavior, for the most part. She said all of two words to you during the day on Sunday, then was on your cock like a cat in heat again Sunday night. You used your size against her, rolling her over and going down to do the thing you do best. This time she tried to let you, and, for five minutes you thought it might work. After ten, it became one of the more awkward sexual experiences you've ever had.

She couldn't let go and enjoy it. Her mind was working against you and for the first time in a very long time, you gave up on being able to bring your partner to climax. It was embarrassing. To make it worse, she apologised profusely to you, though it was your own inability to make your fiancée lose herself in orgasm. You failed to even serve as a distraction.

Of course, you were hard as a rock a minute into tasting and smelling her. So after giving up, while you were staring at the ceiling, wondering how it could get any worse listening to Allison blame herself, you feel her hand on your cock.

That pissed you off.

Like the jackass you are, you snapped at her and left the bed for a cold shower. You'll be damned if you getting off is an obligation for her to fulfill. If you wanted that, you'd be fucking a prostitute. Stupidly, you said as much to her when you returned from a freezing, dick-quieting shower. She left you for one of the guest rooms. It took an hour of apologies and more begging than you'd ever admit doing to get her back into your shared bed.

Yep, even the clinic seems like a better place to be today than your home. You are out of ideas and Allison is acting no better. Maybe she just needs a few hours alone to deflate. Maybe after her prep session, she'll have some sort of piece of mind about what will happen. Hell, at this point, you aren't even sure which parts of the whole scenario really have her worried, or if she is truly that screwed up simply because the girl died.

Maybe you need a woman's perspective. Cuddy needs an update anyway, might as well see if she has some sort of advice to offer. It's not like you can do much worse. Decision made, you drop off your last clinic patient's file and head to her office.

She glances up as you barge in. "Hey, House. I'll be with you in a few minutes. I need to finish this email."

Nodding, you pace around her office like a caged animal. Normally you'd demand her immediate attention, but you don't have fight in you right now. You are miserable and maybe there is a chance she has a solution.

"Sit down, House," she orders once she has finished "You're making me nervous just watching you."

Flopping into the chair across from her desk, you bury your face in your hands for a moment before sliding them down and around to the back of your neck.

"That bad, huh?"

"God, you have no idea. She's a mess. I don't know what to do. This isn't the kinda thing I'm good at. I'm trying. I helped her dig up half the yard. I've let her cry all over my Stone's t-shirt. I've given her space, I've held her, I sent her off with her friend to get drunk, haven't made fun of how terrible a drunk she is because of why she did it — and she still won't talk to me. There is every likelihood that you'll think I'm lying about half this shit, because when she gets here, in front of everyone else, she's going to act normal. But as soon as I have her alone again, she'll be shattered and I don't know how to fix this."

"Sometimes it's something you can't fix, House. Just keep doing what you're doing. Be there for her. Don't be your normal jerk self about it, and let time take care of the rest. This isn't her first loss, it's just the first one she really blames herself for. She's a good doctor and the review is just a formality. She has virtually no chance of losing her license. If all goes well, hopefully the family will see that too, and won't press for a civil suit. A month from now, she'll be done grieving and will be settling into her new role, and you'll be back to keeping all the lawsuits to yourself."

"I don't know if I'll make it."

"Do you love her?"

You glare at Cuddy. Of course you love Allison, but you are not the guy that says it to everyone.

"Well, then you have to make it. I told you once before that Cameron might be the only woman who can deal with your sorry ass long term, and the more I see the two of you together, the more I think I was right. Don't fuck this up. If the tables were turned, she'd never give up on you."

The meeting with Cuddy was incredibly unhelpful. But maybe she's right. Maybe time will take care of the problem. The problem with that line of thought's you have no evidence to support the theory. However, someone on your team most likely does.

* * *

"A kitten. Seriously?! Your great advice after living with the woman for over two years is 'get her a kitten'?" You scowl at Chase for suggesting something so ridiculous. Sure, pets might be in your future, but later, after you have little minions to help feed them and keep them out of your hair.

He raises his hands defensively, "Hey, look. I'm not a huge fan of cats either, but it was my ace-in-the-hole for when something really bad happened. Since that wasn't exactly gonna be enough after being left at the altar, I might as well pass it on and let someone have use of it."

Swaying back and forth in your desk chair, you question the validity of his advice. "Let me guess, this is your way of getting back at me for not being nicer to your new girlfriend…" You stop, raising a finger to declare, "Oh, wait, if I'd been nicer, warm and fuzzy, like a… I dunno… _kitten_ , she wouldn't have quit and you wouldn't have a new girlfriend. Just another coworker that you'd like to fuck, but can't."

He exhales sharply through his nose and huffs. "Gee, you're welcome, House."

"A fucking kitten!" You exclaim, planting your cane harshly to stand. "Christ on a bike."

Storming out of the office, you head straight for Wilson's. You barge in, walking straight to his couch and flopping yourself down on it dramatically. "Don't stop on my account," you tell your best friend who still seems shocked by you after all these years. Turning to the woman beside you, "I believe he was just about to tell your daughter that her latest round of chemo was successful and the cancer now appears to be in remission." You look back to your friend, "Well, go on then. Tell them. I need you to help me cure something far more challenging than cancer."

"Wha.." Wilson looks at you, mouth agape.

Rolling your eyes, you announce, "Death, you moron! Geez. Get with the program. I am pretty sure the only solution to get my life back to normal is for us to resurrect this girl that Cameron thinks she killed."

Wilson glances at the woman next to you with his soft puppy dog eyes, then back to the young woman sitting across from him, who looks as if she was very pretty before the chemo robbed her of most her healthy weight and her hair. Gesturing at you, he says, "I'm _really_ sorry about this. He's always wandering up here from the psych ward." His eyes find yours for the briefest moment, and you give him a blank stare worthy of his lie. "He's mostly harmless, but he's convinced that he's a doctor and that he works here. He also seems to think I'm his best friend and that together we're going to cure death and bring on the age of immortality."

The woman beside you, with her bleached blonde hair and brown eyes, is in her early fifties, has a few motherly-looking pounds around her midsection while still being far from fat. She gives you a soft look and pats you on the knee. "That's a really worthwhile goal. I'm sure with Dr. Wilson's help, you can do anything you put your mind to."

Oh, she really is a nice one. All the more fun. "Yeah, he is sort of the Boy Wonder to my Batman."

The younger woman interjects. "Is what he said true, Dr. Wilson? Am I in remission or is that just his… " She raises a finger to her head and twirls it in the universal 'crazy' sign.

"Oh, no, he's right about that. One long-term side effect of his condition is he's picked up on how to read a chart," he tells her kindly. You still stare off a little vacantly, to help play the part.

"So, what does that mean?" she asks.

"It means, you go home and live. Come see me again in six months. We'll test again then go from there. This isn't a cure, but there is a very good chance we can control it from here on out."

You have to give it to your friend, he's good at his job. Both sides of it. You've lost hundreds of dollars to him thanks to your ongoing bets. Even when delivering the worst kind of news, his patients thank him. They console him as often as he does them. It's exceedingly interesting to observe. When he saves them, he is generally showered with gifts and invites to family dinners — even offers of blind dates with daughters and sisters. If this were the middle ages, Wilson would have lords lining up to offer their various female relatives.

Of course, you hope your patients don't like you. Indifference is fine. Hell, hatred is all good, too. You don't heal them because you need platitudes, you heal them because you need the challenge. You don't want respect because you're a 'good guy,' you want it because you've done the thing that no one else can. Because you _earned_ the right to be better than everyone else.

You know that sometimes you are going to fuck up. Sometimes, that means someone dies. But if you're as good as you are, that's a fuck-ton less people dying than you operating with hopes of your patients also loving you for your efforts. This is why you need Wilson's advice. You can't just lay out your philosophy to Allison in the form of tough love, like you've done for your other fellows in the past. Like you've even done for her before. You can't tell her she fucked up, and that when doctors fuck up people die. You can't tell her to grow a set and get over it. You can't tell her to stop doing so much caring.

Two things stop you:

First, you love her, and crushing her isn't an option. If you are honest with yourself, it never really was, even when you only had a hunch that she might be great. Something about her has always made you softer. Hell, even when you tried to be hard, she was so goddamn stubborn, you ended up just being impressed by her and leaving it.

Second, you generally only give that speech to someone who's taken the big risk and had it blow up in their face. Allison just had a bad day. Missed something she shouldn't have and someone else paid the price in spades. If you come down on her and tell her to man up, it could destroy everything you've worked toward. Neither of you needs that and you aren't sure you'd survive if it killed the fledgling relationship you've built.

You come back to reality when you are spontaneously hugged by a crying mother. After a few fake smiles from you and some real ones from Wilson, his patient and her mother are gone.

Finally, you can let out the laugh you've been stifling. "I'm a crazy man trying to cure death?"

"The best lies are the ones laced with truth," he tells you, not sharing in your mirth. "What the hell, House?! You can't just keep doing that. Those are good people. They've just been through the worst six months of their lives, and now they have to live with the possibility that they might have to do it all over again."

"Yes, but for now, they're living on the high of remission. Allison isn't."

He looks at you, slightly confused. "I thought she was doing fine. Saturday she seemed…"

" _Seemed_ being the operative word here," you interject. "It was all an act. She's really fucking good. If this doctoring thing does blow up in her face, she's got a real future on the stage."

"So… after we left?"

"She wouldn't say two words to me. Moped around. Cried. Tried to take it out on my dick, but then got really weird about me touching her at all. The next day, more silence, more really awkward attempts at sex, arguing, attempted sleeping separately, more crying, more avoidance of the problem..." You sigh, rubbing at your right eyebrow. "More of me having no clue what to do. You are the master of feelings and warm fuzzy behavior. How do I fix this before I lose it and do something that is normal for me and shatter us into little pieces with the cold hard truth?"

"I can try to talk to her. Maybe she won't open up to you about this because she needs you to respect her, and if she talks to you about it she risks finding out that you agree with her and that you really do think she should quit."

"I don't think that. But I do think she screwed up. She needs to deal with it, and move on. Patients die. It happens. Does it suck that it happens? Yeah. But it's part of the job. She knows that, but she's just lost sight of it. She needs to fucking man up."

Wilson puts a hand to his face in frustration of your honesty. "Yeah, don't talk to her. That _will_ be a disaster. Let me handle it. I've been there. I know exactly how she feels. You just keep on doing what you've been doing. It's a miracle you've held up this long, but it's a great sign, I think. You're finally letting someone other than me in. I'm actually really proud of you, House."

Giving him a sarcastic eye roll, you reply, "Gee, Daddy, thanks. It means so much to me to have your approval."

That makes him smile. "Joke all you want, House, but I know it actually does. What time will Allison be here today?"

"We have the prep with Dick-face at three. She has no reason to in come early. So you should be able to corner her around four. I'll make sure she comes up to my office afterward, then maybe you can stop by and walk her to her car after I call myself away with an emergency page."

"It's a plan."

* * *

You hear the familiar clicking of heels outside of your office. Looking up, you find Cuddy standing in your doorway, cell phone to her ear and case files in her free hand. "Thanks anyway, Mom. Yeah, I'm sure I'll figure something out. Worst case I'll have my nanny drop Rachel off here and I'll get a nurse to sit with her in my office until the meeting's over… I _am_ getting married…" Deciding to be a good guy for once, you pick up your phone and dial her pager. "Yes, he's normally very good about…" It goes off, and after glancing down at it she looks over at you and mouths, 'thank you.' "Oh, gotta run, Mom. Just got paged with an emergency. Love you."

Ending the call, a stressed out Cuddy shakes her head. "God, I swear that woman…" and drops a stack of files on your desk.

"Yeah, I figured I'd do my good deed for the year and save one Jewish mom from another. I hear they are the worst. Especially to one of their own."

"She's a convert, but she does take her adopted culture very seriously. Case for you, and I delivered it in person to remind you that, despite everything that is going on with Cameron, you need to take care of hiring a replacement for Dr. Hadley. A woman. Do it right this time or _I_ will do it for you."

Perusing the contents of the top folder your heart sinks a little, while at the same time your brain amps up as the puzzle unfolds in the chart below. Newborn. Lung issues. Negative for all of the usual suspects. As you read, you engage in a little banter with Cuddy to help keep yourself grounded.

"Your mom's a _shiksa_?" you say with some surprise, given that Cuddy doesn't look anything like a half-breed to you. Then, under your breath you say, "Well, that explains _so_ much." She gives you a questioning look, but even you aren't really sure what you meant with the comment other than to get a reaction from her. "Trouble in paradise? Is Lucas getting cold feet? I would too if you were insisting I take a little off the top of my little guy."

Up until now, you had entertained the idea that maybe Allison could consult on your next case, as a means to get her back on the horse so to speak. Nothing like a recent win to take the sting out of a loss. With her on leave, there is no work to bury herself in to help regain her confidence. But not this. Sick babies and Cameron do not mix on her best days.

"My sex life: Not your concern, House," Cuddy snipes. "I'm just short a babysitter for the night. I've got a meeting I can't miss, Lucas is on a stakeout and has his phone off, Mom has a cooking class, and the nanny's daughter has a dance recital."

"Sucks to be you," you fire back with a hint of amusement. One day, you hope you'll have the opportunity for the shoe to be on the other foot, but for today you are happy to be on this side of the baby equation.

"Yeah, well at least Rachel's healthy. Your new patient, not so lucky." Cuddy turns and walks out. You stand and head for the outer office.

"Cancel your dinner plans." You drop the stack of files on the table. Each man on your team takes a copy and starts reading. "Short on medical history. She's only eight hours old. What she's not short on is doctors. Unfortunately, none of them have been able to solve her breathing problems."

Foreman takes a weak stab at it. "Immature lungs?"

Taub shoots him down. "Full term, and they gave her surfactant. Looks like they're fully developed. The sperm donor card from the father did note a history of asthma."

"What if her lung problems are not coming from her lungs?" you offer for consideration.

Foreman scans the file, then answers, "Her heart looks fine."

Chase chimes in with, "Her liver enzymes are elevated."

Now that could be something. "When the liver fails, it stops producing proteins. Specifically, the ones that keep your plasma inside your blood vessels and outside your lungs. Fix the liver, she'll have enough breath to keep the entire ward up all night." Seeing that you approve of the path, the team begins to get up. You call out, "Foreman… you need to stay after school," as the remainder of the team leaves the room. "I apparently need to apologize. Last week, I should not have gone over your head and allowed Chase to hire a new team member. So go hire someone who liked _The Bridges of Madison County_." _Well, at least this should be entertaining._

"Do you want me to hire a white girl?" he asks flippantly.

You pretend he's got one up on you and let him have his moment of smugness before the fall. "Go find a woman, and wipe that self-satisfied grin off your face."

He grins, with a look that screams, _See, I've won!_ He informs you of what you already know. "This'll be quick. I've been interviewing people all week. I have it narrowed down to two candidates."

It's all so perfect. You can't wait to fire the poor girl. _Sorry honey, but you are just about to become collateral damage in a game you don't even know is being played._ And boy won't it feel good after three days of being on your absolute best behavior.

"How's Cameron, by the way? We all heard what happened, and about the suspension."

You shrug. "She's Cameron. She's upset that she wasn't perfect and she _feels_ a lot."

"And you?"

"Me? I never feel anything… except her boobs."

"That's exactly what I mean. I have a hard time seeing you as the caring boyfriend, and I doubt Cameron needs you picking apart her every move."

"And I suppose the guy who played the caring boyfriend by firing his girlfriend first chance he got has a wealth of wisdom to offer the other ginormous asshole in the room. If it's all the same to you, I'll take my chances. I like having regular sex. You might remember what that's like enough to understand." You leave him, along with any advice he might have offered and head off to grab a snack before the meeting.

* * *

Richard Mason, a.k.a. Dick-face, is dribbling on about what to expect from the formal hearing for what seems like hours. You try to remain focused, for Allison. Mostly you end up squirming around like a guy with ants in his pants, rolling your eyes and staring at the ceiling. She was doing her thing again. Acting like she's fine, when you know better. You might even fare better in the situation if she acted like she needed you there. But as it is, you're even more uncomfortable showing genuine concern for her in front of others.

The last time you felt this much disdain for something you must have been around eleven years old being forced into going to church. After getting kicked out of three separate classes and being reprimanded during a sermon — not at Thomas's church of course, he would have welcomed the discourse — for pointing out the lack of logic in each bible story, your father figured more souls would be saved if he gave up on yours and finally let Sundays be as it should be: the day you sleep the fuck in.

John House had far more conservative views of the Lord than his friend Thomas, your once minister turned stepfather. It sometimes created a small rift between the best friends, though they always made up. Then again, maybe those rifts really had nothing to do with how they interpreted the teachings of Jesus at all. Given what you now know about the circumstances surrounding your conception, you may not have been the only one to make assumptions about who your bio dad was.

" … and so all that leaves is the matter of the retraction of your statement to the parents of the decedent."

"Retraction?" Allison asks.

He looks up from his paperwork. "Yes. Without it, there is a very good chance they will pursue a civil suit against the hospital — or even you personally — if the formal review doesn't end with the revoking of your license. I'm sure that won't happen, otherwise we'd be left with no doctors, because each of you will inevitably miss something or make a bad call that results in patient death. But we also have to guard against malpractice suits and other civil hearings from families looking to make a quick buck in damages."

Of course, the implication that the family is out to profit over the death of their daughter pisses her off. She lets him have it. "I am fairly sure that most of them would rather have their family member back and avoid the 'quick buck' all together."

Uh oh. Looks like things just took a dive south. Goddamn this guy. This is not what Allison needs.

"I will _not_ be retracting my statement," she continues. "I don't care if the family wants to sue. I fucked up. If suing me gives them any sort of closure or peace to help make up for them losing their daughter on my watch, then great."

"I highly advise against… "

You've had enough of this guy. "Hey look, _Dick_ , if Dr. Cameron says she's not retracting her statement, then grow a pair and _do your job_. It's _your_ job, not hers, to make sure the hospital and its doctors stay out of court. So do your job so she can get back to doing hers."

"Excuse me, Dr. House," he tells you curtly. "It was a courtesy allowing you to sit in on the briefing. I _am_ doing my job. Dr. Cameron needs to understand that if she'd like to continue to do hers, sometimes that means standing up for a judgment call, even when it's a bad one. She needs to formally retract the statement of fault, citing that it was made under the emotional distress of losing a young and promising student. That she was overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness in a no-win situation. Something to that general effect. I'll write something up tomorrow and we can review it…"

"I will _not_ lie." Allison sits up, defiantly straight-backed in the chair. "I screwed up. It might be a screw up that falls under the normal parameters of acceptable statistical loss for the hospital, but it doesn't change the fact that _I_ made the mistake and the parents deserved to hear the truth from me about it." Her stubborn streak makes you proud. You are all about standing up for your actions.

Dick-face shoots you a look of exasperation. He clearly didn't expect the meeting to take this turn, then he petitions you. "You of all people should understand this. You're in my office at least once a month. Instead of being a defensive boyfriend in the hopes you'll still get laid tonight, you should think about your fiancée's life and talk some sense into her."

That just pisses you off. If Allison wants to stand by her decision, then she should. Do you agree with what she did? Nope. Would you give this guy the satisfaction of agreeing with him in front of her? Not for all the opioids in the world.

"The only sense I'll be talking into anyone is the kind that I'll be talking into Cuddy to get you removed from this case. Come on, Allison. Fuck this guy."

Well, for the first time in four days you might have done the right thing. Allison nods without another word, picks up her bag and leads the way out of his office. Your next natural thought however, has a very huge risk of pissing her off. You aren't super excited about the idea yourself, but the problem is you _know_ it's the right action to take. And you know what that means.

"Thanks for sticking up for me in there," she tells you as you walk side by side toward the elevator.

Taking her hand, you tell her, "Despite what other's may think of me, I am a loyal boyfriend."

"Damn straight. So now what? I didn't think Cuddy had another lawyer on retainer right now. Is he with a firm, will they just send someone else?" she asks, figuring you of all people, are likely to know how all of this works.

"I don't know. But I don't want any other asshole from his firm. I know exactly who we need for this." Pausing for a moment you consider your last chance to back away from the idea. Of course, you can't. "Problem is, no one is going to like it."

It doesn't take long before she whips around, your implication not lost on her. "You want to call _Stacy_?"

"Look, whatever you think about her, she's beyond good at her job. After all that shit with Mark, she owes me. Hell, you were there too. She owes us."

"Yeah, I get it. I liked her when she was here. I know she's good. But that was before us. And we both know what happens when you two help each other."

Oh. You weren't sure she'd figured that out. At the time she was still so full of dreamy eyes and chagrin over you. Then again, she also saw the way you looked at Stacy and backed off, defeated but strangely happy for you.

"What do you mean?" You try to pull off a sincere look of confusion.

She knows you too well to buy it. Tilting her head, like she does when she's about to be really pissed at you, she says, "Don't pay coy with me House. I know better. You two slept together the last time she was here. You both have unresolved feelings. Feelings that might never be resolved, and I don't need to deal with that while I'm dealing with all of this."

"Jesus, Allison, don't do that. Don't put up the wall with me." You really hate it when she uses your last name in anger. Like it's a defense mechanism to save her from hurt. "I get it's not an optimal situation, but I'm not _that_ guy when I'm with you. I don't think about her that way now. I don't miss her anymore. I don't lie in bed alone at night wondering what my life might have been like anymore. Trust me. She is the absolute best at this. You need her. I don't _want_ her. I want you — but I need to know that you have the absolute best person fighting for you. Please, trust me."

She casts her eyes downward, her anger giving way to a look lacking confidence, "Greg, I don't know if I can compete with…"

Putting a hand on either of her arms and bending down just a bit to look her square in the eye, you assure her, "There. Is. No. Competition. Believe me, after everything I went through the last time she was here, if it weren't for the fact that I love you, I wouldn't wish her in a thousand miles of me."

That does the trick and though you know she still isn't happy about the idea, she regards you adamantly. "Okay. We can't be an us if I don't trust you."


	12. Modern Interpretation of Snare Drum Rudi

**Chapter 12: Modern Interpretation of Snare Drum Rudiments**

You lean back in your desk chair as Cuddy waits for you to tell her why you've called her up to your office. You still need her permission to do this. Cameron isn't being sued personally, at least not yet, so she can't just demand her own lawyer. Well, she can... that is _you_ can, but well… it isn't what one generally does and it's certainly not hospital policy to just let any old lawyer in on its business and, at this point, it's mostly their business.

You take a deep breath before you start. "So I was thinking — maybe my team can help cover a few shifts in the E.R. while Cameron is out."

"That's…" She looks at you with a confused expression, "That's really _nice_ of you." Sighing, she probes for more, knowing that something has to be up if you are offering her anything of real use. "So what's the catch? You're _not_ getting out of clinic duty and you're _not_ getting out of hiring a female fellow."

Huffing, you defend, "I'd _never_ try to bargain for things like that. I'm a professional doctor, ya know," rolling your eyes as if the mere thought of doing such a thing is reprehensible.

"Spill it, House. I don't have all day and Rach will be here in…" she glances down at her watch "half an hour. By which point I will need to've found someone to watch her during my meeting, which isn't exactly in the contract of my nurses."

"Doesn't this place have daycare?" You ask, truly a little confused. You were pretty sure that was a thing here, though it's not like you had a reason to use it, but there is that one room where the kids didn't look like they belong to Wilson.

"Yeah — the important word there being 'day.' We don't have a service for night shift and I'll be here at least until nine thirty."

"Seems like a hospital that's, I dunno, in the business of keeping its workers working twenty-four hours a day, would have something like that. You should really complain to the person who runs this place."

She waves off your comment. "The demand isn't high enough to warrant the extra expense. Most people have someone available in the evening to take care of that. Back to the topic. What is it you want, House?"

Leaning forward in your chair, you answer defensively as you evade the real topic a little while longer, just until you finish trying to find a winning angle. "Hey, can't a guy just be nice?"

She huffs incredulously. "Yes, but a House can't. Look, if you _really_ need to get on my good side before you finally tell me what this is all about, you could offer to have someone on your team babysit for me."

"We are already exceeding our baby quota by one." Something catches your eye just behind Cuddy in the hall. _Is that Foreman with an extremely hot brunette_? Oh, hell yes, it is. If that is the new girl, that was fast. _How the hell did he do that? She can't be that good if she's available immediately._ Especially if immediately means 5:00 in the same evening you get the news you've won the job. That kind of shit only happens on T.V.

"Hold that thought, Cuddles. If this is who I think it is, I might just be able to help you out."

She watches you curiously as you stand and head to the next room, where Foreman had already lead the woman. He is introducing her to Chase. Taub is still with your patient. Upon hearing the door, he turns and extends the introduction to you.

Getting a good look at her, you lament your decision to fire her, but comfort yourself with the fact that you are aborting plan A of the firing, which was to do it just after the introduction, and moving to your just hatched plan B: firing her right after she babysits for Cuddy.

She extends her hand as Foreman says "And this is Dr. Gregory House, your new boss. House, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Christina Fraser. She's a board certified endocrinologist and I've just hired her for our team."

"And you are starting tonight?" You ask, without taking her outstretched hand.

Pulling her hand back, with that odd look people always give you when you refuse the standard greeting, she replies "Yes. I just moved back home a few days ago after completing my residency at Penn State. Dr. Foreman mentioned there was an urgency to fill the position, so I figured unpacking could wait if starting today gave me the edge on the job."

"Oh, we'll see about what kind of edge that really gave you. For your first assignment… How are you with babies?"

"I've never worked in pediatrics, but they are just little humans and I am good at working on humans."

"I meant, how well do you get along with them."

"I'm not sure I follow. Dr. Foreman told me the patient was a newborn—"

"Oh." You snicker. "You thought I was asking because of… Well, I guess that is understandable. But I have a different baby that needs your attention. Much more important case. High profile. It'll get big points with our Dean of Medicine."

Cuddy, who had been observing through the door, walks up beside you. "House… Are you about to do what I think you are?"

"Speaking of the devil herself, Dr. Cuddy! I have the perfect solution to your problem. Dr… Oh, what was it again…" you snap a few times as if you are trying to remember. "Franko, Francis?"

"Fraser." Fraser and Foreman answer in unison.

"Fraser!" You snap again, as if you just 'got it', "Dr. Fraser will watch Rachel for you during your board meeting. Chase will do a shift in the E.R., and Foreman, Taub, and I will handle the other baby. It'll practically be like that movie about the three men and a baby."

Taking Cuddy by the arm before she can protest, and before the socked members of your team can complain, you drag her back into your office, shut the door and close the blinds.

"Now where were we. Oh, yeah! I was being really nice and considerate of your needs as both the Dean of the hospital and a friend, and in return you were going to call Stacy in to handle Cameron's case."

A momentarily speechless Cuddy looks at you in shock. Then stutters out, "House… I don't think—"

"Yeah, that is your big problem. Look, Mason is a fucking douchebag who wants Allison to retract her statement to the parents. There's no way in hell she'll do that, so we need someone better to deal with this shit. Stacy's the best. Allison's going to need the best and all the rest of the personal bullshit is gonna have to take a back seat. Allison is in no state to have that jerk-off as her counsel. He'd counsel her to confess malpractice to the judge if he believed it's what would save the hospital's ass."

Cuddy crosses her arms and give a warning glare. "You don't find that to be a conflict of interest?"

Planting your cane firmly in front of your feet, you learn forward and shrug. "No more than when I was fucking Stacy and she was defending me once a month," you remind her. She was no innocent in turning a blind eye to your inappropriate working relationship then.

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head to the side. Her tone remaining contentious as she continues to try to talk you out of this. "And you don't think Allison is going to have a problem with it?"

Turning your head to the side, you look away from her for a moment with a 'puft.' She has hit a nerve, but you'll be damned if you'll let her know. "Why? I'm long since over Stacy. She and Allison got along fine when Stacy was working here. I'm engaged to Allison now, Stacy's still married to Mark. We're all rational, if not mature, adults who've moved on."

She shakes her head skeptically, but with a deep inhale, followed with an audible exhale, concedes. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you that this is a _terrible_ idea. I'll have Johnson work with Chase to make a schedule for your team."

"Oh and don't work the new girl into that. I have to make sure she passes the House inspection first."

You get a text just as Cuddy is about to say something. You raise a finger indicating to her to hold her thought.

'Did u buy me drums?' It's hard, but you manage not to smile broadly, putting on a concerned face instead to help you get rid of Cuddy.

You raise the phone with a worried shrug. "Sorry, Cuddy. It's Allison. I need to call her. Just bring up your faux-spawn when she gets here. Fraser is extremely hot and a doctor. I am sure that qualifies her for keeping your kid entertained, as well as alive, for a couple of hours."

She rolls her eyes and leaves the office, as you dial Allison. Before Allison even has a chance to say 'Hi,' you ask, "I guess the music store delivery guy dropped them off?"

"Yeah. He's setting them up and getting ready to tune them. I told him he didn't need to bother. I remember how, but he said you paid extra, so I left him to it. Thank you. I know I've been out of it, but you didn't have to buy me―"

"Had nothing to do with that," you interrupt. "I bought them when I got the guitars. I wanted to surprise you with them as an early birthday present, since I was at the music store anyway. Got you a few lessons, too. You can sign up whenever. Just call the store."

"Greg, baby, this is...really sweet of you. They're pretty; you know how much I love red." Her voice was filled with something you might best term as a happy sadness. She also called you 'baby', which she generally reserves for your more intimate moments. With a little more levity she adds, "If they sound as good as the look, we'll definitely have to start that band."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. Maybe this is finally a good sign she's starting to put her depression behind her. "That's my girl. You've been wanting to beat something off the whole weekend to deal with this thing. You can do that with the drums now and not my dick."

Immediately upon those words exiting your mouth, you wish you could retract them. Since you can't, you settle for smacking yourself on the head.

"Always the charmer," she retorts, but with a playfulness you've not heard in a few days. _Whew. That was just about a major fuck up._

Trying your best to play it off, you tell her, "You'd hate me any other way."

"True," she agrees.

There is an extended silence. Neither of you seems to be sure what to say next.

Finally you can't stand it. "Well, I have a case, so…"

"'Kay. Love you," she replies quickly. The sadness is back.

"You too." With a sigh, you hang up and force your mind to focus on your case. That is a situation you can control and, right now, you need to deal with things you _can_ control.

* * *

"You were right about the liver. On ultrasound, we found intrahepatic dilated bile ducts. Extrahepatic ducts were normal." Taub informs you as you watch, with great amusement, your soon to be shortest lived fellow taking yet another random object Rachel has found in your office away from her and placing it up out of reach, while still trying to listen in on the differential through the door.

"You should talk to her in a high pitched, but soothing voice. It will help calm her down." You call back as if you are suddenly an expert on toddler care.

"You know, Dr. Fraser would be far more useful to us if she didn't have to be chasing around a two year… "

"Now, now, Foreman, she has that extra X chromosome for a reason. She can handle two babies, bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It's a brave new world for the fairer sex. Or hadn't you heard the song?"

"I'm fine, Dr. Foreman. I didn't take this job blindly. I am well aware of Dr. House's reputation. To be honest, I'd be more scared if he were being nice to me," Fraser calls in as she catches up with Rachel again, this time hoisting the child up to straddle her hip, before joining you in the conference room. "You know, dilated bile ducts could be congenital."

Oh, and damn! Hot like Brunette Cameron and smart like her, too. You are going to be a little sad crushing her to teach Foreman a lesson, but then again, you also wouldn't want the real Allison to think you hired a clone of first year her.

"Hot _and_ a brain." You look over at Chase, who has rejoined you, thanks to the E.R. being slow. "You should have held out for Cameron 3.0 in brunette. Oh, wait, when they're too smart…" You squint at him, then look over at Fraser with a wicked grin. "So, how do you feel about threesomes?" Chase groans.

Letting the comment roll right off, she answers, "Depends on the configuration of girls versus boys." You raise an eyebrow and exchange a glance with Chase. "Caroli's syndrome fits," she continues without missing a beat. Damn. You really do like her. Oh, well. Maybe you can write her a good recommendation as a consolation prize.

"So, let's open her up," you order.

Taub looks to the others, aghast. "Surgery? This is a newborn with liver failure. She's oozing blood from every puncture site. It's insanely risky to open her up."

Nodding in agreement, you continue, "Yes. It's unfortunately also the only way to fix her."

You glance at Rachel, who is sucking on her hand, and as soon as you make eye contact, she drops the hand, smiles open mouthed at you and says "Tre sums. House!"

Oh, hell that is cute! Cuddy's going to be so pissed. Smiling, you continue in a higher pitched baby-talk voice, making little hand gestures at Rachel. "So make teeny, tiny incisions with a teeny, tiny scalpel."

* * *

You watch the surgery from the observation deck. It does not go well. The baby's blood pressure drops dramatically and the surgery has to be halted. The diagnosis is wrong. So now what? You walk down to join your team just outside the O.R.

"The liver problem alone is not gonna mess with the baby's BP. Whatever this is, it's got to be affecting her heart." Foreman starts.

Chase follows, "Heart plus the liver. Could be tuberous sclerosis"

Foreman again, "Or it could be a vascular malformation in the liver, causing both problems."

"Best treatment for a vascular malformation is surgery," Chase says as you all start to walk back toward the office.

"No more surgery," you say. "That ship just sailed and let's pair that with there's no way that our patient has a vascular malformation."

"And you know that because?" Taub asks.

"I'm not an idiot and I read her chart. A.L.T.s are three times normal. The baby's liver damage is far too extensive."

Back in the office no progress is made toward solving the case. Rachel sleeps in a makeshift blanket-bed on the floor behind the outer-office's desk, allowing Fraser to do research on the computer. You aren't coming up with any great epiphanies, and your team is out of ideas. Well, at least you can teach Foreman that lesson now. Cuddy should be back in less than 15 minutes and you need to do this before she does, or she'll more than likely veto the entire move.

You get up from your seat at the conference table and walk over to the desk. "Anything good on there? I am a fan of the girl on girl on girl on vibrating object, but you seem more like a midget porn kind of gal. Then again, after that comment about threesome configurations maybe you're all about the double penetration videos."

"Nothin' quite so exciting. But I do think I'm starting to _see_ double," she jokes. You snicker, but wait no longer to do your task, lest the fact that you like her might get in the way.

"You're fired, by the way. Pack up your things and go."

"What?" she stares back at you, nearly speechless.

"Beautiful, smart, funny, and quite possibly deaf. I said, 'You're fired.'"

Foreman stands and walks toward you, pissed. "House... you're kidding, right? I've done my due diligence. She's the best there is."

"I have no doubt. She's still fired."

"Wait? What did I do?" Fraser finally finds her voice and stands, looking just about as irate as Foreman. Sadly, it isn't nearly as much fun as you had hoped, because she would have been a good fit, but no way you are caving in now. Foreman needs to remember his place and this is the best and, to be honest, most entertaining way.

"You had the misfortune to be the lesson that Foreman is learning. That 'whooshing' sound is the air being let out of his ego. But hey, look on the bright side. You were fired before you were technically even hired, but since my needing you to get what I wanted from Cuddy caused the news of that firing to be delayed past our introduction, I am now more than willing to give you a stellar recommendation as a parting gift. You do actually have potential."

"This is bullshit. Keep your recomendation, and stick it up your ass," she says furiously, grabbing her purse and lab coat as she storms out of the office. You turn and watch her leave.

"That'd be a better comeback, if I wasn't kinda turned on by anal play." You get a last jab in as her stellar ass sways with each step she takes away from you. It's as if it is waving a final goodbye to you. The last comment earns you her middle finger raise behind her head, in a more universal goodbye gesture. You shake your head like a wet dog, in order to prevent lustful thoughts from developing further.

A small hand grabs yours. Looking down you see two large blue eyes staring back up at you. "Juice!" she demands.

"Sorry, kid. Your mommy is mean and didn't leave any juice for you and you're a bit young for the bourbon I keep stashed in the desk." Though no longer true, it is still fun to say it to a baby.

"Juice!" she replies back, lets go of your hand and trots in circles around the conference table.

Foreman huffs beside you, "You are such an ass, House. You could have made the same point without crushing the hopes of a young doctor who was actually excited to have this job."

Smiling back, you inform him, "No, I'm not sure I could have. I think you give me far too much credit. Taub…" You look over to him to find him prying a pen from Rachel's tiny fist. To which she tells him "Mines!" in protest before running to hide behind Chase's chair to play peek-a-boo with you. "Taub. it's your turn to find a young doctor who's actually excited to have this job."

"For you to fire?" he retorts.

"Not until you or she earns it," you reply as you walk over to the hyper little girl, swoop her up to sit on your hip and head back to your office, informing your team as you go. "We'll be in my office watching _Brownbeard_. Go check on the patient then do some hours in the E.R."

* * *

"House! What on earth kind of filth are you letting her watch?! What happened to Fraser?" Cuddy crosses through your domain in a whirlwind, scooping up the little girl from your desk chair where you had sat her to watch one of your favorite cartoons. You stand up from your seat on the edge of your desk and wink at the little girl in her mother's arms.

You answer Cuddy in your most convincing pirate voice, "Arrgh, we's just watchin' th' ol' scallywag Brownbeard." To which you get an icy glare from Cuddy and a hearty giggle from Rachel.

"What kind of adult in their right mind lets a two year old watch that kind of thing?" she snaps at you, with all the fury of the stereotypical Jewish mother.

"What?" you feign ignorance with a shrug. "It's a cartoon. Cartoons are for kids."

"Is Fraser with the patient?" she asks, gathering up her belongings.

"No."

"Bathroom?" she turns to you suspiciously. Rachel still giggles at you in her arms.

"No idea," you answer before sticking your tongue out at the smaller Cuddy, earning more encouragement from her while stoking the fire of the elder Cuddy. It's like a two-for-one bonus.

"House..." Cuddy warns with a nasal voice.

"Fired!" Rachel proclaims. Your smirk downturns as your eyes bulge out of your head. Damn it, she picked that up too, and now she has ratted you out.

Cuddy whips her head to look at Rachel. "House, why does my daughter now know the word 'fired?'" Turning back to you, she asks it in such a way that lets you know just how screwed you are.

With an exaggerated lift of your shoulders and hands and a high pitched whine you reply, "You let her watch too much reality T.V.?"

"Where is Fraser, House?"

"I had to let her go. Wasn't going to work out. But I've got Taub on the case to hire a replacement. He seems to be far more adept than one would think at picking up stray females who are way out of his league. So hiring one with an M.D. at the end of her name shouldn't be too much of a stretch for him."

"I am far too tired to deal with you right now," Cuddy said. "I called Stacy. She'll be here tomorrow around noon. She'd like to have a working lunch with Cameron. Can you let her know?"

"Yeah. Did you mention that—"

"Yeah. She seemed to take it all in stride. Said something like 'Well, I guess she finally figured it out.'"

"Figured what out?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I'm going home, House. I'd thank you for this, but I have a feeling that by the time I uncover all the choice words Rach has picked up from you and your team, I'll be more happy if I didn't."

* * *

After a less than stellar cafeteria hamburger and no more progress from your team, you decide you might as well head home to wait for your patient to crash. Things were quiet with her recovering from surgery, but you knew it was simply a matter of time before the next big crisis happens. Hopefully, whatever it is, it will reveal some other puzzle piece that you're missing.

To make said puzzle even more puzzling, she seems to have stabilized for no apparent reason after the surgery.

For now, perhaps the best thing you can give your patient is a brain blessed with a full night's sleep. You decide to stop by Wilson's on the way home to get the lowdown on his talk with Allison and, hopefully, avoid Allison for just a little while longer in the hopes she will already be asleep by the time you get to bed. You can't handle another awkward sexual encounter, but your dick can't help but confuse your brain and get you into trouble. Best to avoid trouble altogether and the potential hurtful things you might spew out because if it.

"So, I guess I see what you mean," Wilson affirms."She said, very convincingly, that she was doing okay. Said all the right things one says in these kinds of situations. I told her she could always talk to me if she didn't want to unload everything off on you. I think that tipped her off that you'd talked to me. Then again, from what you've told me, she hasn't talked to you about it at all, so maybe I misread the look she gave me. I mean, we all know you aren't grief counselor material, so maybe it was just her not wanting to act like she doesn't feel comfortable talking to the man she's marrying about this."

"I am pretty sure she would have never considered that I didn't talk to you. So no reason for her to act weird about that. Tell me more about this _look_."

"You know, the one where she tilts her head a bit like this, with a little eye squinting and a light nose wrinkle." He demonstrates.

"Yeah. That's her trying-to-figure-something-out look. Or maybe, the thinking-about-a-course-of-action-but-not-sure-if-it's-wise look."

"Maybe she _is_ coming to terms with it. It's been four days. I am sure each one gets easier."

"Maybe, but I am not about to go back home and find out if it has or hasn't by way of her sexually molesting me." That was a harsh way of putting it, but you are a harsh guy. Part of you enjoyed what she did to you, even when your brain tells you it's not healthy for her. That part of you says, 'Hey, if this is what the girl needs, just lay back and enjoy it.' But that's not the part of you that is afraid of getting burned. Or the part that is afraid of burning her.

"Oh, yes. I am sure it's _so_ terrible to have your _beautiful_ fiancée taking her frustrations out on you in the form of sex."

"You seriously have no idea, Wilson," you tell him somberly and he nods once, instantly understanding he should just drop it.

You hang out with him for another hour, purging your troubled mind by way of some random episode of Animal Planet until Sam comes in from working a late shift. She politely asks about Allison and you give her the vaguest of replies, "She's okay." A few moments later you are out the door and on your bike heading home. You cut the engine early, coasting into the drive and leaving the bike outside, for fear of the garage door noise waking Allison. You enter via the front door. All the lights are out and you exhale a sigh of relief.

Quietly, you limp to the music area, dropping your jacket and backpack on the couch and take a moment to admire the gift you gave her. It is a beautiful kit and you are rather pleased with your significant-other self at the moment. Her iPod is lying on the snare drum beside a worn pair of drumsticks. There is an old wire music stand, that you know isn't yours, set up just to the side of the high hat and a worn copy of _Buddy Rich's Modern Interpretation of Snare Drum Rudiments_. Would have never pegged her for a Buddy Rich fan the way she denied being into drumset. How did you miss that book and music stand during your snooping through her boxes? There has to be a story in there somewhere. The snare head shows more than a fair amount of strike marks.

This is a good thing, right? Huh. Maybe you don't completely suck at this relationship thing after all. And Chase wanted you to get a damned cat! Drums are way cooler.

 _Buddy Fucking Rich rudiments!?_ That is far too cool. _Shit, if she's really a fan girl, that may just explain everything about her attraction to genius assholes_ , you ponder with amusement.

Continuing your stealthy trip to your bed, you divert to the first spare bedroom and its adjoining bath to get in a quick shower. You and she both stored extra clothing there for just this purpose. Being doctors who need to sneak in and out at all hours of the night, this setup makes it so much easier to not wake the other. Taking a look at the bed, you contemplate sleeping there, just to make sure you don't wake her. You can always stretch the truth and say you came in too far into the A.M. and didn't want to disturb her sleep. Quickly, you dismiss the thought.

As much as you want to avoid the awkward, you _need_ to be with her after a long day apart. Especially after the additional complication you've created with your desire to bring in Stacy. As much as you know it is the right move legally, you would be a fool not to recognize it may bring some risk to everything you've built with Allison.

A yawn overtakes you and your mind begins to protest so much serious thought. These are all things that you can worry about, tomorrow. Tonight, you need to sleep with your lover against your chest, with her scent in your nostrils, her perfect little ass against your… _Hey! Stop that!_ _We're avoiding that line of thought. Remember?_

After your shower you opt for more, rather than less, clothing: pajama pants and your favorite faded and threadbare black graphic tee ― it being nearly grey now from twenty years of wearing and laundering ― the gold patterns missing flakes of color. Once dressed, you sneak from the room, down the hall and into the master suite. The door opens, thankfully squeak-free and you light your way with the low glow of your phone's screen.

Allison lay on her side in the middle of the huge bed, favoring your side slightly. An invitation for you to hold her on your return, you're sure. Her deep breathing and the, ever so light, occasional snore assures you she is deep in her rem cycle and not likely to wake even when you curl yourself around her. You sit down lightly, make sure your phone is set to vibrate, for once, and slowly pull the nightstand drawer open to get the ibuprofen; toss a couple back, swallowing them dry. Placing the bottle back, you finish getting into bed, slide over, meeting her in the middle, and inhale her scent deeply as you fall rather quickly into a deep sleep that you've needed for days.

* * *

It's cold in the bed as you wake and reach for the phone, slowly realizing that Allison is not in it with you and given the lack of any warm spot other than your own, has been gone for some time. Your phone rings far too early for your liking, but in fairness you expected the call much earlier. 7:00 A.M. is manageable.

"Has she crashed yet?" you answer.

"No. Something's keeping her stable, but damned if any of us know what it is." Foreman informs you.

"What did you give her after the surgery?" you ask, swinging your feet over the side of the bed and begin rubbing down your thigh.

"After the transfusion, we gave her steroids and dopamine," Taub answers.

"So nothing that should be causing this kind of improvement," you say, mostly to yourself.

"Didn't we use the mother's blood this time?" A random female voice chimes in.

Taub is quick to respond, "Yeah, but I don't see how…"

She is on to something. "Random Female Voice has a point. Hook the mom up to the baby. Direct blood transfusion," you order and start pulling the phone from your ear.

"House I'd like you to meet—" Taub starts in as you hang up on the team, finished with them for the moment. Maybe you'll keep this chick that Taub most likely has dug up. She seems good on first blush, and it would _so_ fuck with all of them if his pick is the one you don't directly screw with. If this is any indication of the kind of day you are going to have, your luck just may have turned!

First thing you need to do is find Allison. No smell of coffee or any other yummy thing coming from the kitchen, so she has to be out for a run. As you enter the kitchen, you switch on the lights and make your way to the coffee zone. Yeah, you have a coffee zone now. Complete with an espresso machine, burr grinder and french press all courtesy of the failed Cameron/Chase wedding shower. Also, there are two matching drip-brew machines that you couldn't seem to part with just because the two of you randomly own the same make and model. Yeah, you had a giggly 'his and hers' moment, what of it?

You smirk at the twin coffee-makers, but opt for what has become your new addiction: freshly ground coffee brewed in a french press. Some things are just better the hard way. You grab a small pot, and start filling it with water. As you do, you look out the kitchen window just as Allison turns the corner and runs into your drive. Stopping abruptly, she doubles over, hands on her knees. She is breathing hard and is much more sweaty that normal, indicating a longer run and a hard sprint to end it. Obviously, she's still trying to punish herself. Maybe the healthy option will have better results than your failed idea of sorrow-drowning.

She comes in, making a beeline for the laundry room. A minute later, she is walking past you gloriously naked, heading straight for the bedroom with a simple "Morning, babe," hardly acknowledging you or your slack jawed stare.

Damn.

And she _smells_ — in the good way. Clean, healthy, woman smell. No fake perfume; just natural pheromones… and goddamn your dick.

You follow. Stalk, might be more appropriate, if a guy with a chunk missing from his leg can be accused of stalking. It's as if you are reduced to instinct, following the scent markings of a fertile female, ripe for mating.

There you go with the mating talk again.

 _Fuck. Yeah. Mating_.

You're as powerless to biology as the next man, as you close in on your prey before she can reach the shower. Grabbing her by the arms, you pull her back flush against your body, inhaling as you do. Your hard cock receives a small amount of relief as it presses against the upper half of her ass through your clothes. "Don't you _dare_ shower. Your scent is making me incredibly horny."

"Seriously? I reek," she whines.

"You know as well as I do that pheromones are a powerful factor in sexual attraction. It's basic biology. When you smell like you do now, paired with looking like you do, men are going to want, no, _need_ to mate with you. I am simply acting in accordance millions of years of evolution. And yes, I would beat the shit out of any other male right now if I had to, just to get to be the only man inside of you depositing my superior genetics."

Licking her neck, you enjoy her salty flavor. Fuck, you love her a little dirty.

"Compromise with shower sex?"

 _What!? That would destroy the best part._ "Allison… I want you _dirty_. I like your stink. It makes me want to fuck you like an animal."

"Well, you do have the nine-inch-nail to do it."

There's your girl. With a growl, you drag her to the bed and push her onto it. Pulling your pajama pants down just far enough to free your throbbing dick, you rub your pre-cum all along her slit, and a few seconds later her own lubrication begins to mix with it.

"Greg…"

"Yeah, baby, I know. God, I've miss…"

"Did you leave the water boiling on the stove?"

A steaming, sizzling sound sinks into your brain past the arousal. Damn.

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Damn!" You chant as you pull up your pants . "Don't you dare move," you order as you hop-limp back to the kitchen to deal with the overboiling pot. You grab it as fast as you can, pulling the pot off the flame, and manage to burn your hand in the process.

"Fuck! God-fucking-dammit all to hell, fucking bitch cunt mother-fucker!" You scream as you force your hand against the instinct to drop the pot, which only makes matters worse. Somehow, in your distraction, you not only left the pot on, you managed to miss-align it so the handle was more exposed to the flame, leaving it extremely hot. _Why didn't you just turn off the gas instead of grabbing the handle, fucking idiot!?_

As soon as the pot is safely placed to a cold burner, and the hot one turned off, you turn on the sink faucet and cool your throbbing wound under the water.

"Hey. What the hell happened?" Allison calls from behind you. You turn to see she her dressed in one of your shirts, her face full of concern.

"I managed to burn the shit out of my hand. I should've just turned off the damned gas. Goddamned lacka blood flow to my brain. You just _had_ to walk by me all fucking hot, and sweaty and naked, and smelly, and distracting!"

"I'll get the kit," she says with a sigh and you berate your asshole-self some for snapping at her. However, you are far too pissed and in too much pain to retract or apologize for anything. The sure sign of _real_ pain is when your leg doesn't seem to be hurting, thanks to another more excruciating ache.

Looking down at your right hand you can see the pink lines start to form, and you can tell, while the burns are not severe, you aren't going to be using that hand for cock stroking or anything else needing a good grip for at least a few days. Fuck. Cane hand too. You suppose your former P.T. would be pleased it'll force you to use your cane the 'right' way again for a few days.

Allison's hand wraps around your wrist and pulls your hand from the stream to administer first-aid. A couple of minutes later, you're popping twice your normal pain meds and wishing to all that is holy you had something with a C2 drug schedule to deal with this.

"Better?" She asks softly, kissing your forehead as you sit on the family room couch grinding your teeth, left hand clenching your right wrist, as if cutting off the blood might somehow stop the searing pain.

"What do you think?" You answer harshly.

"I think it's time for that shower. You are welcome to join me, or you can sit out here and brood. Up to you. I'm too tired to fight you one way or the other right now." And with that, she's gone, leaving you wallowing in your misery.

 _Why the fuck can't I get a break?!_


	13. The Reunion

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _A continued thanks to atavares, like-waves-on-the-beach and everyone who's sticking with me on this one. Drop me a review if you feel so inclined._

* * *

Chapter 13: The Reunion

To go or not to go? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer sharing a lunch booth with the current love of your life, sitting across from the former love of your life, or to let them meet alone, and by avoiding them… hell, whatever. You're no fucking Shakespeare. But you sure as hell feel like you are smack dab in the middle of a fucking tragic drama today.

Truth is you can't avoid it. Goes against the fundamental fiber of your being to not know what the fuck is happening between them. And, since they'd both kick your ass from here to next Tuesday if you planted a recording device, you find yourself taking a long and lonely walk from your office to your car. Couldn't take the bike thanks to your brilliant maneuver this morning.

Your hand hurts. Your leg hurts. Your brain hurts. Your gait feels awkward because of having to use your cane with your left hand. For once, your right shoulder isn't aching. Guess you should take comfort in that small win. And there's the patient. The mother's blood seems to be the key. The team is giving her another transfusion from Taub, just to make sure. But if your newest potential team member is right, and let's face it, Asians usually are, the answer lies with the mother.

Starting your car, you let out a sigh and lean forward to rest your head on the steering wheel for a moment. Time to pay the piper. Not sure how you ended up owing him, but you are saddled with the bill nonetheless. Last time you spoke to Stacy, you told her to stay with Mark. You did the right thing for a change. It didn't feel right at the time. Everything but. However, now you know she and you would have been a lost cause. You loved her. She loved you. But you were too far apart on everything but love. And despite what one might read in trashy internet romance novels, it takes more than just love to make a good match in a life partner. _Life partner sounds so gay._

Sitting up, you reside yourself to your fate and put the transmission into reverse, check your mirrors, and pull out. At least they picked a good restaurant. You have a feeling they both knowingly decided on your favorite deli. The one that has the bad ass rueben that will even serve it to you cold, if you call ahead. Both Allison and Stacy always remember to do that. _Fuck, this is going to be weird._ You aren't sure who will have it the worse, but you are sure you'll all feel it.

As you pull up, you see Allison entering the establishment. Stacy seems to have the same car as she did a few years back. You see it parked toward the end of the building. You pull in right up front, thanks to your handicap plates. Your father would be pissed at you for bothering. Why the hell do you care? Fuck him anyway. Dammit, this whole thing has every little insecurity you have bubbling up to the surface.

Do not be a dick.

Do. Not. Be. A. Dick.

You can do this.

As you walk through the doors you look to your right and see the two women standing next to a booth, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. You can't hear but you can read Stacy's lips. _'It's good to see you, too, Allison. I love the new hair.'_

You can't see Allison's reply. You can bet it is the standard, _back to my natural blah blah._ Stacy glances up and sees you. Motioning you over with a wave, she then extends her arm toward the booth indicating for Allison to have a seat, before she sits across from her. A few seconds later you are sliding into the booth next to Allison.

Your palms are sweating. Your leg is thumping like a teenager on Redbull. Maybe you should kiss Allison. Just a peck. Make sure you establish who you're with now.

Turning toward Allison, you tuck her hair behind her ear and she turns her head toward you and grants you a peck on the lips. A chaste kiss, but one that sends the right message — you hope, anyway. Not a fuck you, tongue kiss for show, just a small, and dare you say it, _polite_ , symbol of the new order of things. Thankfully, Allison's not mad at you. Thankfully, you wised up and took that shower with her, though the hot water made your hand burn like hell again. Serves you right anyway for being a dick.

She finally lets you, come to her, and you fuck it all up with your lack of control over your emotional outburst. But, even at her worst, she's Cameron. And Cameron, even more than Allison, loves to mend damaged things. If she's a cat, you might as well be catnip. You give Allison a lingering look, not even meaning to, before forcing your mind back to the task at hand.

Turning, you place your forearms on either side of your paper place setting and find yourself sitting face to face with Stacy. She smiles — looks genuinely happy for you. But you know her better than anyone, or at least there was a time you did. Behind the smile is a sadness. Both of you will forever be left with it. "Greg. It's good to see you again. Wish it were under better circumstances, but that seems to be how these things work. Unfortunately." She reaches a hand for yours as a friendly gesture but you slide your right hand away, then hold it up in explanation.

"Sorry, I burned the hell out of my hand this morning."

Looking at your bandage, Stacy asks, "How the hell did you manage that?"

"I was distracted by a nak—" Allison backhands your shoulder. Flinching, you glare at her. "Hey! I'm wounded enough thanks to the women at this table."

Ah, shit. You went there. Fucking dumbass.

"Don't blame me for the lack of blood flow to your brain. You could have turned off the burner before all of it drained south."

Stacy snickers at Allison's comment. "Some things never change." Allison rolls her eyes in agreement and you figure you are officially screwed.

"Thankfully, others do." You challenge, and place your wounded hand in Allison's lap. Time to stop fucking this up. The encounter is starting to go toward the 'Gang up on Greg' scenario. And of the many possible scenarios that have played through your mind the last day, this one was the one you hoped for, yet dreaded in equal parts. It's the one that means there will be no cat fight. But it's also the one you'll become the butt of all the jokes.

Go figure, this seems to be your week for having to take the high road and deal, so it stands to reason this is the path they'll end up taking. Though there is a part of you, in the way-back of your mind, that was hoping — just a little — for naked mud wrestling.

"Indeed, they do." She nods towards the ring on your left hand, and you bend your thumb under your palm to fiddle with the band, remembering how seeing one on Stacy's hand for the first time had made you feel.

"You look good, Greg. I hear you're sober and, dare I jinx it, happy. I'm happy for you." You give her a curt nod of acknowledgement, then the table is silent for a little too long. Under the table, Allison starts tracing a heart pattern on the inside of your right wrist. Not being able to stand the awkward silence any longer, Stacy jumps back in changing subjects and clearing her face of any lingering melancholy. "So, I called ahead for you. After talking to Allison on the phone this morning, she mentioned that your love for the cold reuben, sans pickles, was another thing that hasn't changed."

"That would be a sign to look for the seven horsemen," Allison jokes, as she continues to trace her finger across your skin.

"Great rapture joke. Except you're an atheist." you bemoan. _Stacy better fucking win this case so we can get things back on track, because fuck this ex lover joking with the present lover bullshit._

A waitress, Maggie you think it is, her name tag is obscured under a light jacket and you suck at names, chooses that moment to take orders. "What can I do for ya? Oh, hey House. I guess that's your lunch in the fridge?" She tosses her head back toward the kitchen, as she writes something on her order pad.

"Yep. My usual."

Stacy orders next, "I'll have the Cobb salad, a diet coke and I'll take the bill." The waitress nods and looks to Allison.

"Usual for you, too?" she asks.

"No," Allison answers as she glances at the menu, then quickly comes to a decision. "I think I'll do the rachel today. Greg's love of 'kraut based sandwiches is starting to rub off on me, though I still can't do the corned beef thing." She wrinkles her nose, and you wonder how she even lives thinking that way about corned beef.

"Fries?" Maggie asks.

"Can I get a side salad?"

"Sure." Maggie scribbles as she asks, "to drink?"

"Just a water. Thanks." Finished, Allison closes her menu and tucks it back behind the paper napkin holder.

"You got it. I'll be back in a minute with your drinks." The waitress says as she tucks her pen behind her ear, slides her order pad in her apron and walks away.

"Pft. Salad. You'd think both of you were fat or something." Huffing, you wave your hand over the table dismissively. "Eat some fries. Live a little." Despite their both having great bodies, you have no issue with a little extra lovin' to grab onto. Within reason. Then again, there aren't many healthy female shapes you don't enjoy.

Stacy glares at you. She always hated it when you expressed your opinion on what she should or shouldn't eat. "Uh, huh, and there couldn't possibly be a corollary to our lack of fat and our lack of desire to fill our bodies full of it?"

Oh, god… it is really _really_ hard not to tell Stacy just what you can fill her body full of right now. _Just keep biting your tongue. It's only going to bleed a little._

Both women look at you, then Stacy glances to Allison, and raise an eyebrow, silently giving her some sort of nod of approval for how Allison seems to be controlling you. Allison just gives a confused shrug, less pleased than you'd expect for winning a battle that basically your mother had been sole champion of. One that Stacy would have killed to have been on the upside of even half the time. Allison has to know just how incredibly difficult it was just then not to sexually harass your ex.

"So, thanks again for coming in to handle my case on short notice. I know you most likely had to shift your schedule around to accommodate it, and I really do appreciate it."

"It's the least I can do. Your team saved Mark. I'm in your debt. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I am curious about the two of you. Hopefully that doesn't come across the wrong way. Actually, it was a pleasant surprise."

"I was as surprised as you. But, I guess you were right." Allison raises her eyebrows and gives a little shrug. Stacy returns a satisfied and knowing 'you're welcome' nod. What. The. Fuck.

You look from one women to the other and back again. Furrowing your brow, you inquire of both of them, "Right about what?"

Allison turns to you, "When Mark first came to our team for help, she and I talked about you, and our awful date. It wasn't much, really, just a couple of short conversations, before I realized… Anyway, she gave me some advice. I guess it took me a while to figure it out. Hell, I gave up before I did. But _you_ came to _me_ the second time around and well, so far it seems to be working."

"What's working?" You're still confused. They love it. This sucks. You need answers, but you know you won't be getting them. How the fuck Mormons do the whole multiple wife thing is beyond you. Of course the sex…

Stacy smirks, seeming _very pleased_ she knows something about Allison you don't. "Now see, if she tells you the secret, you'll plot to destroy the angle." Confirmed, these two would kill you as sister-wives.

You narrow your eyes and lean forward toward Stacy. "I don't think there is an angle. I think the two of you are just yanking my chain, because you know this sucks for me, having you both here, and it's prime opportunity to have me at a disadvantage."

Stacy huffs, "Paranoid much?"

You give her a fake smile. "Only around you."

Allison jumps in to prevent the brewing argument, "How about we focus on the task at hand. How much did Cuddy share with you?"

"She emailed over the details." Stacy pulls a file from her briefcase, places it on the table and opens it. She fishes her reading glasses from the breast pocket of her suit jacket then reads. "The patient presented to the ER with a laceration to head. She reported a history of lightheadedness and syncope episodes for a few days prior. During the exam it was noted the patient was short of breath. When questioned, she stated it was due to asthma and stress cause by mid-term exams. Patient was offered nebulizer treatment for asthma but declined. The laceration was sutured.

"Patient was not requested to change into a gown by the nursing staff because no other symptoms were mentioned. Dr. Cameron didn't press for it because the E.R. was over capacity and it seemed unnecessary. After the patient was brought back to the E.R. DOA, Dr. Cameron could see the signs of swelling in her legs and ankles. It was at that point Dr. Cameron realised she missed this condition because the girl was wearing jeans before and didn't report the symptom.

"Dr. Cameron delivered the news of the patient's death to her parents, at which time she openly admits that her oversight was a major factor in their daughter's death. Then, she alludes to the possibility that the patient would not have died had she been more thorough in her examination. Afterwhich, the parents filed a formal complaint with the hospital administration."

Looking up at Allison, Stacy takes off her glasses and continues. "Lisa mentioned that the girl was a 4th year med student and you had also trusted that she would be fully forthcoming with any symptoms, so you didn't press the issue of shortness of breath. She also mentioned that the E.R. was slammed with patients during the timeframe the deceased was there, so you were inclined to treat what you could see and move on to the next case."

"Yeah. That about sums it up," Allison confirms to Stacy.

"She also mentioned that you refuse to sign any kind of retraction of fault."

"That's correct. I didn't do my job the way I should have. The way I normally do. Being busy is no excuse and the parents deserve to know. I'm not going to lie."

"I disagree with the idea that a retraction is tantamount to lying. It's simply drawing a line between what is the acceptable margin of error in a high-stake high-pressure job that involves life and death decisions on a daily basis, and what is a true case of negligence and malpractice. No one who knows anything about how things work in an Emergency Room, would question your fault for a second. The only reason we're here is a tired doctor, at the end of a long day, had an emotional reaction of guilt and went so far as to remove her veil of professionalism with the family of a patient. I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the hard truth of it."

Stacy's frank assessment has a rock forming in your gut. Maybe this was the wrong call. You observe Allison's reaction to the older woman. Stacy, while frank, possesses a gift for delivery. It's what makes her great at her job. It's a big part of why the two of you managed to work for as long as you did. She was curt, without being an asshole. Blunt, with with an undercurrent of compassion. Not sappy, in any way, shape, or form, but somehow she conveys that she gives a damn about people.

Allison simply gives her a nod of understanding and so Stacy continues.

"But, as much as I disagree with your stance legally, I do understand your position _morally_ and I get why you don't want to seem cold and indifferent, or look like you are just trying to save your own backside. I also get that you have every right to feel guilty about any mistake, however reasonable, that caused the death of another person. So, at this point, you and I have to go over the encounter in exact detail. We have to show that even though you don't deny, and are not retracting your statement that you would have been able to diagnose her in a more ideal circumstance, there were enough unavoidable distractions and misdirections concerning the symptoms from the patient to for the hospital to justify your decision to release her. Thankfully, we do have the odds in our favor. Twenty-somethings dropping dead of heart attacks with no prior reported condition is rare."

Your food comes then. Allison and Stacy continue going over the case. You finally get to hear everything from Allison herself. Your two personas are at odds again. Greg simply wants to kiss away the bad, House on the other hand thinks she needs to get her act together and deal. You completely agree with Stacy's early assessment, but would rather grab another scalding pot handle than say it to Allison. Both sides fight with one another, but neither side wants to be alone again, so House takes the rare back seat.

You don't roll your eyes.

You don't huff.

You don't offer sarcasm.

You eat your sandwich and listen. By the time she's done, a couple of tears manage to leak their way past her improving resolve. Even here, in front of Stacy, she fails to completely hide the pain you know she still feels nearly as strongly as she did the day it all happened. Unable to handle it any longer, you push your half eaten lunch away and put your arm around her, turning a bit in your seat to plant a kiss on her head and reach across your body with your left hand and gently take hers. You rarely show her this sort of affection in front of anyone, even Wilson. But Stacy, of all people, knows better than most that this side of you exists.

Of course, you are sure the thing that surprises Stacy is the fact you are openly showing this side of yourself in public. She might not have the slight, momentary flash of shock come across her features if you were in a private office. But here, in a public restaurant, for anyone to see, that's something you weren't comfortable giving her.

It isn't that you never showed Stacy public affection. You held her hand. You kissed her. Grabbed her ass playfully. But playfully was the only way you would show her affection outside of the confines of your private life. Until the infarction, you hadn't even told Stacy you loved her publicly, with no care of others observing you had a heart. And let's be honest here, you were self-serving when you finally did. You were scared shitless of losing your leg. Scared of dying. Sadly, you weren't scared of the one thing you should have been, but fuck that train of thought. It's done; the water having long since flowed under the proverbial bridge.

Allison is all that matters now.

Allison squeezes your hand for a moment, then pulls it away to wipe her cheek and you can feel she is suddenly self conscious of the attention you are giving her in front of the present company. So, with a final peck on the temple, you move away and try to refocus on your lunch, leaving both women in a little bit of shock.

It's Stacy, again, who refuses to let the silence linger for too long. "So, I think this is enough for me to get started. Allison, I'll call you later today, after I organize my brief, to make sure you and I are on the same page with everything. Tomorrow we'll go over your statement. Greg, you are welcome to come if Allison wants you there, but since you can't go to the hearing, there won't be much for you to do."

You look at Allison, conveying a silent question. _Do you need me there?_

"I'll be fine, Greg. You should focus on your case, so my fuckup doesn't cause some other patient to die due to their doctor's distraction."

"That really gives me all kinds of confidence you'll be fine," you respond sarcastically. She smiles and reaches under the table to pat your leg.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll be fine. Really. Stacy has this covered and you have a patient."

Your brain refocus on your case for a moment and the gear shifts. "Maybe not for long. I think we're close on this one. Seems there is something about the mother's blood that is fighting off whatever it is that's jacking up the baby's liver."

Allison starts to speak, and you know it's about your case. But you don't want her focusing on dying babies right now, shifting gears again, you put a finger to her lip. "Uh, whatever you have to say, you aren't working right now. You need to stay focused on your case, my team and I have Sick Baby covered."

* * *

By the end of the day, your team has confirmed your theory — the mother's blood is the difference. Taub is filling you in on the details.

"I found a mole under the nail on her left index finger. The biopsy revealed it's melanoma."

"That's it?" Well, that's kind of a let down. You were hoping for something exotic. God, that food smells amazing. You didn't eat all your lunch, and you're starving, but your team hates you or something, because they neglected to get you any. "How come no one got me food?"

The random female, and awesomely asian, doctor that Taub lucked into borrowing from pediatrics for the case, but has yet to suggest as a real candidate for your team, looks at you incredulously, "What do you mean, 'that's it'? The woman has melanoma. She could die if we don't—"

"Boring." you inform her, while eying the food and getting a warning look back. "Since the baby has the melanoma, we kind of already knew the mom had it."

"Yes, but now we know where it is, so we can —" she is momentarily distracted by your failed attempt to steal some of Taub's food. He slaps you hand. You yelp. "Hey, wounded cripple here! We need to work on your bedside manner." Then she continues "...treat it much more effectively, so…"

You like Dr. Random Asian Chick, but she totally doesn't get the _real_ point of diagnostics. Cradling your hand, you continue your conversation with her in hopes of correcting her flawed thinking. "Great. So treat her. Also boring. What's interesting is that mom's melanoma spread to the baby in-utero, which means it's metastatic, which means it's late stage. How many people with a late stage melanoma are as healthy as she is?" Tossing out the real interesting puzzle, she thinks on that as she chews a bit of her delicious looking sandwich.

Foreman jumps into the conversation, "Clearly something's going on in mom's blood that's treating her melanoma as well as her baby's."

Confirming with a nod, you say, "Antibodies."

He continues, "If her immune system was fighting the melanoma, it never would have spread."

Finally, someone using their brain. "Exactly, which means it's fighting something else, and the melanoma cells are getting caught in the crossfire. So what's mom's immune system really shooting at?"

Taub suggests, "Scleroderma can cause cancer-fighting antibodies."

Then Chase finally offers something, though not anything helpful. "So can Churg Strauss... pretty much any auto-immune disease."

Random Asian Chick begins to get 'the look'. The look someone gets after having their first taste of an instantly addictive substance, then offers a suggestion. "Or infections that cause granulomas, T.B., mycobacteria."

She might be a fit, if Taub will grow a set and actually offer her the job. You doubt he will. You've mind fucked him. It's rather funny, and you are content to see it all play out. "See, Dr. Cheng? This is not boring." She smiles, then you issue orders. "Start with autoimmune. Go test her blood." You look at Taub and attempt once more to procure some dinner, "And leave your food," but fail, as Taub picks up his meal and stalks out of the room.

Damn it.

Well, they have this covered. Maybe you should just go home, grab some food on the way. Maybe hell froze over and Allison cooked something for you.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you fire off a quick text. _Dinner?_

 _Case solved?_ she responds.

 _Sort of_ , you offer vaguely.

 _I was gonna order out_

 _Shocked_ , you tease and include a shocked emoji for dramatic effect.

 _Shut up. China?_

 _I have a reputation of being a monster, but country eating is a little much even for me_

She tosses you the eye roll emoji, and asks, _Usual?_

 _Yeah. If new blue hair streak grl is there make sure she doesn't forget th extra pancakes_

 _K. Lv u_

 _U2_

 _R u picking up, or am I_ , she asks.

 _I'll get it_

A couple of minutes later, as you are placing the last of your files into your backpack, the phone buzzes once more. _15 min_ , and with that you are out the door and on your way home.

* * *

"So, how was the follow up call?" you ask before losing another bite of food from your fork. You hate eating Chinese with a fork, but you can barely eat with a fork left handed, you sure as hell can't manage it with chopsticks.

Taking pity on you, Allison takes her chopsticks and grabs a bite of your food, then feeds you as she answers. "Good, I guess. Actually, can we talk about something else? I can't think about it any more right now."

"Yeah. Sure." You still don't know what to make of her total avoidance of the issue with you. All you know is that bringing it up seemed to darken what started out as the first normal evening you've had together since this whole thing started, so you scramble to think of some sort of small talk.

Then you remember, "So, what's up with the Buddy Rich book?"

"That was a present from my band director, junior year. He was really into the 70s power big bands. We did this marching band show featuring tunes from bands like Buddy Rich, Stan Kenton, Thad Jones-Mel Lewis, Maynard Ferguson, stuff like that. Our drumline won best drumline at regionals that year. He got us all a copy of that book as a reward. There are some really cool patterns in there."

"Yeah, Buddy Rich was a badass. Play something for me."

"You really wanna hear me play rudiments?"

"How else am I going to be sure you aren't just fabricating a clever lie about your being a percussionist?"

"All right, but fair warning, I didn't play for 10 years, so my chops are nil."

"Good thing you have a shiny new drum set to practice on and a month of lessons to get going. They have three instructors there. I've heard one of them play a few times at the Blue Whisper; subs for the regular guy ever so often. He's also a horn-dog and chick magnet, so now that I'm thinking about it, maybe not that guy."

She rolls her eyes at you and feeds you another bite. "I plan on calling soon; I just wanted to get my bearings back first. After we finish, I'll play for you. I'll even go so far as to show you the drum feature from that show, because that was drilled into us so hard, none of us will ever forget how to play it. It involves some pretty intricate ride cymbal and snare work, but again, really rusty. And, remember, I never spent a ton of time playing set. I just dicked around on it sometimes at school. So I only know about three grooves that involve all four appendages, so that's going to be the part I really have to learn from ground up."

Like in all things, Allison Cameron was overly modest about her drumset playing. Granted, now that you know she is a musician, you'd expect nothing less. The more you learn, the more you understand just how much you need to learn, and therefore how much you really do suck. But she has all the basic tools, despite the rust. It was surreal in many ways, seeing her there, straddling the snare, playing rudiments for you with her obnoxious metronome subdividing every beat.

She wasn't kidding about the 'drum feature' either. It was from a Buddy Rich solo. Transcribed and arranged for a whole drumline, so to help fill in those things the other drum parts would have covered, she looked the song up on YouTube, piped it through the stereo and played what her part had been along with the recording. She only really scuffled a bit in two spots, but to hear her go on about it, you'd think she had folded outright. Allison Cameron: fucking perfectionist in all things.

You would have never had pegged her for a drummer. You should have, looking back on it. There was that time your patient had the offbeat heartbeat, and she was the one who heard it right away.

Goddamn it was sexy as hell to watch.

It didn't help that most of the terminology consisted of easy double entendres — wood, sticks, stroking, grip, groove, rhythm, drill, rolls. The flirtatious teasing came quickly and easily between you. Goddamn burning your hand! It'd be nice to play something, however simple, together.

After she finishes her last little demo for the night, you raise your left hand and smack your fingers against the palm. "Look, it's the sound of one hand clapping." She puts the sticks on the snare with a chuckle, gets up, and walks toward you on the couch. "Thank you, again. I do really love them."

"I just wanted to use them as foreplay."

"Yeah?" She says as she puts a knee on the cushion beside you, then swings her other leg over your lap, straddling you.

"Yeah. I don't do anything without motive. You should know that by now."

Finally! A normal moment of foreplay. She leans down to kiss you and you tilt your head a little to give her full access to your lips. Closing your eyes, you open your mouth to hers. She slips her tongue against yours.

It feels so perfect.

So, of course, your phone rings.

She puts her head against your forehead, and sighs. You pull her hips into yours and grind against her. Fuck your phone.

"You gonna answer that?" she inquires with a long sigh.

"Whatever it is, it can wait. The minions all have medical degrees. They need to learn to use them."

"Answer your phone, House, our getting off isn't more important than your patient." Calling you 'House' is a bad sign. She's still not over this depression and you'll just send her reeling if you fight her on this.

You give her a wry look. You want to tell her to cut the 'House' shit in your house, but you are so desperate not to fight or do anything to flare up her still raw emotional state. She gives you a soft look and a peck on your cheek, before fishing around in your pocket and pulling out the phone. It's an action far too close to what you really want her to do, but looks like you are shit out of luck again.

You missed the call, so you dial Foreman back. "This better be fucking important. I was about to get laid by the world's hottest drummer."

He pauses for a moment, and you figure his wondering what drummer you're referring to. Maybe he knows she played drums, they were friends after all, or maybe he wonders if you're being a cheating bastard. You hear him take a deep breath before he continues, "Well, while you've been getting nasty with Sheila E. we've figured out that the mother has two cancers. We found oat cell lung cancer with an MRI. That's what's creating the antibodies that's treating the melanoma and making her blood help the baby."

"Sounds like you've got it all covered then. Put the baby on chemo. Prep the mom for surgery then put her on chemo, too. Transfer them to Wilson, the Boy Wonder, and let me get back to laying down a sick groove with Sheila." Allison raises her eyebrow in amusement. You slide your bandaged right hand under her shirt and your fingertips stroke the soft skin of her side and lower back.

"The mother is refusing treatment. She's refusing to put the baby on chemo in favor of treating her with transfusions. She thinks it's the best option for the baby."

"Christ! Having a mother who's not dead is the best thing for the baby. Get the surgery scheduled. I'm coming in."

With that statement, Allison is off your lap and gathering your things. Time for you to show your charming bedside manner off to this idiot mother who thinks her second X chromosome gives her some sort of trump card over five medical doctorates.

Back at the hospital, you head straight for the patient's room. The mother is there, as luck would have it, sitting alone with the baby. "Send all those warm motherly vibes to her while you can, because there's a good chance that if you continue to be this stupid, vibes and some photos are all she's going to have of her real mother. And your other daughter will get to take on the fun of raising the little bundle of joy that helped kill their mother."

* * *

Your charm and stellar bedside manner save another life. The surgery revealed several clots forming in her lungs. She was more or less a time bomb for a pulmonary embolism. You want to go home and gloat, but the irony of your ability to be the world's biggest asshole serving as a huge factor in your life-saving bag of tricks, while your fiancée is home suffering over the loss of a patient due to her having a wonderful and friendly bedside manner with her patients, is not lost on you. So you stay to see the surgery through. Stay to help get both mother and baby transferred to Wilson's department. You even do the charting, so your friend has everything he needs when he gets into work in the morning.

You end up camping out on your recliner to catch a couple hours of sleep.

The morning finds you somewhat worse for wear. At least your hand stings less this morning. Starting to itch some too. A good sign, but annoying as hell.

You head to the locker rooms and raid Allison's locker for a toothbrush and toothpaste and then raid Wilson's locker for his deodorant and a spare pair of boxers. Hey, if you can't borrow your friend's underpants, he's practically no friend at all, right? You lose your tee shirt, which is a little ripe and after a quick shower, redress in just your button down and jeans. Looking in a mirror you note you're only slightly more disheveled than normal. Then again, with you, who really notices anymore?

After a quick trip to the cafeteria to steal a bagel and coffee, you head up to the roof to have your breakfast in peace and solitude.

The solitude doesn't last for long, as you feel a familiar presence behind you. A hand finds its way to rest on your shoulder. "Still coming up here to think?"

"Not so much. But something about being around you seems to bring out old habits."

"Hopefully, not too many." You let the weight of Stacy's statement sink in. Yeah, you both are much better off now. Maybe this time around, being on more even footing, there is some way to find friendship at least.

"No, sorry. I know how addicted," you emphasize the 'dic' syllable for effect, "you were to a certain old habit of mine."

"Well, some part of you seems to be the same old House at least." She leans back against the brick wall to face toward you. "God, it's good to see you like this! Finally. When Lisa told me, I… well, I was in shock for a minute, but then I thought, good for her… And good for you, for finally getting something right besides your damned puzzles."

"Yeah, I feel so great right now, with my fiancée all screwed up and depressed over something stupid she did that she just needs to get the hell over."

"That's just it, Greg — you feel for her, even though it's clear to me you think she fucked up and your gut reaction is to tell her she needs to just move on. You _doted_ over her at lunch."

"Greg House does _not_ dote," you tell her dryly. Sure you were supportive. And you know that kills Stacy to see you finally figure it out, but _doting_? "Grandmother's dote. I was just being a supportive fiancé."

"You held her hand under the table the whole of lunch."

Did you? Huh… guess you did, but that wasn't really doting, that was, "It was just because I burned my hand. I couldn't use it to eat anyway. I was just resting it there to keep it out of the way."

"Oh, come off it. It was cute. The way you looked at her, tucked her hair behind her ear. I've never seen you like this — so openly _caring_ for a person. Sure as hell not for me."

Her statement stings more than you want to admit and makes you feel defensive. You felt for her. Too much sometimes. You just didn't do a great job of expressing it in a healthy way. "Awe, did I make Stacy-waisy all jealous?"

She huffs, her normally toned-down southern drawl becomes a little more pronounced with her frustration. "Get over yourself, Greg. I'm tryin' to pay you a compliment, and I'm serious about being happy for you. All I ever really wanted for you, since… since I did what I did, is for you to figure out how to be happy again." Your look softens, and you remember how cute you always thought it was when her accent comes out. She returns your look, and adds softly, "I guess, part of me never really got how fragile of a thing that is for you until it was too late."

Nodding, you lean your elbows against the ledge and look out over the campus, trying to absorb her words. She turns and matches your stance, and you both stare out in silent contemplation until a familiar car pulling into the lot below catches your eye.

"I guess you're meeting with Allison soon."

"Yeah. Ten minutes. Lisa's office. You comin' with?"

"I don't think she wants me there. She's different around me over this. She doesn't talk to me about it. I keep trying to do things normal guys do in this kind of situation, but no matter how nice and understanding I try to be, she just shuts down around me. Yesterday was the first time she's talked about it in that kind of detail in front of me. And that's only because _you_ needed her to."

"Greg, if Allison wanted a 'normal guy' she wouldn't be with you."

You make an immature stink face at her, complete with sticking out your tongue. Fuck. Allison deserves a good and normal reaction from her man. And, even if it kills you, you need to give her what she deserves.

Seeing that you aren't moving to join her, Stacy raises an eyebrow. "We'll be in Lisa's office 'til ten if ya change your mind. Allison's a big girl now, Greg. She mighta had a little bit of kid left over when you hired her, but she's not so naive anymore. You obviously love her. Just don't forget who she fell in love with. Maybe that's the guy she needs now, and not some ideal you have drawn up because the person placed on the pedestal has gotten reversed."


	14. What We Have Here Is a Failure to Commun

_A/N: Continuing thanks to my betas astavares and like-waves-on-the-beach for there continued skills and time. Love you ladies! And thanks to all the reviews and newcomers to the story, it's always an encouragement to get feedback both in reviews and simply by gaining follows and favs._

* * *

Chapter 14: What We Have Here Is a Failure to Communicate

Stacy's assessment of your handling of Allison stuck in your craw all morning. Had you, in your desperate attempts to 'do the right thing', actually managed to screw it up? You avoided the main lobby area like the plague, both for the sake of not seeing Stacy and Allison, but also because the clinic was the last thing you needed to deal with today.

You sent your team off to the E.R. to help with an overload and since it had been a while, you decided to steal Wilson's lunch and hang out with the vegetables in the basement. There was something oddly comforting about returning to the act that used to be a large part of your routine. All the while, the conversation with Stacy spins around in your mind.

Yeah, you're in love. It doesn't bother you nearly as much as you thought it might for everyone to see you wearing your heart on your sleeve with Allison. At this point, no one questioned your ability to turn on a dime right back into asshole of the year. But the idea that your best effort to act like a normal person, rather than being a class A asshole and treating Allison as if she's still a first year fellow looking for answers might be just what she needed, bothered you in the worst of ways. Because somehow you think there might be something to it.

Up until now, you've been very purposefully separating your work life and your love life with her. She had done the same. Not that you don't talk work at home or get down and dirty at work, but you and she had your personas for each situation. Cameron and House or Allison and Greg. Up until now, you'd been impressed with how easily the two of you changed gears between them — how in tune you were to the switch in the other. It certainly helped that she wasn't on your team.

But this situation was causing there to be a bleed over that neither of you could avoid, and you had told House to take a back seat through the entire thing. Problem was, you weren't sure how to not see her as anything other than Allison right now. Is it possible that Stacy was right?

But wouldn't Allison just tell you that she needed House right now? That she needed you to be her mentor for a few minutes and not her lover? What if she was having the same problem the otherway around? Was she even aware of it? Would she make the same connection as you are now and come to you?

"Fuck, this shit is too goddamned complicated," you huff and toss your lunch trash in the nearest receptacle and head upstairs. Your gait was deliberate and your expression sour, clearly displaying your current frustration, resulting in random nurses and candy stripers diverting their current courses just to avoid sharing the hall or elevator with you.

And the 'pedestal' bullshit. You, Gregory House, did not put people on pedestals. Unless, of course, it was to examine them. It certainly wasn't to admire them. You need Allison, since your last breakdown, it is clear just how much you need her — need her to stay and make sure you have someone to pick up the pieces when you shatter. You will break again, you are sure of it. All the reformation in the world can't change that. It's like fighting gravity. No matter how much you think you have it beat, at some point, gravity always wins.

But with Allison, maybe you can find some sort of equilibrium. Is it really a bad thing you want to do the same thing for her? Be there for her to help hold her together. Both Wilson and Cuddy thought you were handling things correctly, for once in your life. They knew Cameron far better than Stacy, right? They know you nearly as well, even though deep down you recognize, in many ways, Stacy still knows you better than anyone.

Was she really happy for you? Happy for Allison?

Funny thing is, you are certain she is. She may be an expert liar to anyone else, but you know her. The only time she ever successfully lied to you, well… blame it on the pain and the drugs, which, despite your proclivities for the use of drugs for recreation, caused your mind to be far from clear.

No. When all things were equal, you could smell a lie on her a mile away. She loved you enough to want you to be happy, even if that means with someone else. You understood that. It's the reason you broke it all off and sent her back home with Mark. Once you got past the challenge of knowing she'd have you back, you couldn't drag her back into a life that would make you both resent one another, even if it was paired with hot, steamy, delicious resentment-sex.

Whatever window of opportunity you may have had with Stacy closed the day you woke up in recovery missing a chunk of your quadriceps. You've forgiven her the act, because you understand it, but you won't ever be able to get past the betrayal or the knowledge that you aren't what the other needs to be happy. You know that happy is a thing you can be with Allison. Stacy sees this too. There is more to the happiness equation than love alone.

So, you conclude, Stacy does want you happy. However, that doesn't mean she's right about Allison.

You pull yourself out of your thoughts just as you make it to your office door. As you pull it open, you look up to see the back of a brunette sitting in front of your desk, her laptop open, and her typing away. Stacy.

Hearing the door, she swivels around, pulls her readers down and smiles. "I hope you don't mind. I needed a place to finish some work. Cuddy needed her office for a meeting and the waiting rooms are a little depressing."

"Knock yourself out," you reply and walk past her to sit in your desk chair.

"Where's the team? I thought I'd get to say hello to Chase and Foreman, but the office's been empty."

"I lent them to the E.R., it was part of the deal for getting you here." Another telling admission.

"I see," she says with a hint of a smile.

"So… " you pry as you relax back in your seat.

"So things are all ready for tomorrow. Allison is prepped and I've submitted the brief. I don't foresee there being any _legal_ issue with her returning to work next week."

"But?"

"But I don't think she's ready mentally. You need to talk to her. Set her straight. I don't think it's all as cut and dry as this case either. I'll give her credit. She puts on a hell of a show without you in the room, but I've done this a long time and I can tell when a person is on the edge. Something's going on in her head that she's not telling anyone, and whatever that is needs to be addressed or I think she's going to walk back in here on Monday with a good chance of making some other mistake she'll regret. And the more of those she makes, the harder this process will become both personally and legally."

The pressure is starting to overwhelm you. Not knowing the solution to this puzzle, having to deal with these emotional issues that you have never felt equipped to deal with, is making your head hurt. You rub your fingers across your forehead for a moment, then wipe your hand down your face, then take a moment to massage your neck, circling your head around to loosen up the tensing muscles. Exhaling, your hand drops to the desk and you look back to Stacy, who returns a sympathetic look.

"I… I don't know if I can put the wall up with her like this. I want her to talk to me, but she won't. I think about yelling at her to snap out of it, but I can't. If she were in a normal frame of mind, all I would see is Dr. Cameron, and none of this would be an issue, but right now I look at her and all I see is this frail version of Allison, the woman I asked to marry me, the person I think might actually make me happy, and…"

Even with Stacy, who knows you in ways no other person has, you find it hard to say all of the things you feel. After a long beat she breaks the silence. "I need a cigarette." She closes her laptop's lid, reaches down and grabs her purse and fishes out a pack of Camel Lights. "Come on. You look like you could use one too."

You follow her from the room without so much as a nod and head to the elevator. The ride to the top floor is silent, as is the walk to the stairwell and up the stairs to the roof exit. A few more steps and you are standing together in 'your place', the place the two of you always come, alone or together, to sort out things. The act of coming here anytime she is around is like putting on a well worn leather jacket.

Popping open the cardboard lid, she offers you the first cigarette. You take two, placing one between your lips and the other in your breast pocket for later. She takes one for herself, sets the pack on the ledge, and fishes her lighter from her suit coat pocket. She lights hers, then hands it over to you and you flick on the flame, apply it and inhale. Damn, it always feels good to take that first drag. Somehow, despite the enjoyment it gives you, it managed to be one vice you seemed to be immune to developing an addiction for. It was a drug you could do here and there, when you needed to stave off boredom, or when you needed to think. Right now, it was the latter.

"So, how are things with Mark?" You couldn't stand talking about your situation any longer. In truth, you are surprised to find that you might even care a little about the answer to your question.

"Great, actually. He's back to his old self. Has this kid he's been counseling — abusive home life. The parents finally were arrested and convicted. He's 16, got a sister who's 13. Mark wants to foster them. I thought, 'Why the hell not?' We'd always put career before family, and well, we joked about doing what Lisa did and adopting a baby, but we're not sure we really want that at our age. This seemed like it could be a nice compromise. If he didn't know the kid so well, I'd probably be more hesitant, but Mark says he's a brilliant kid who just drew a shit hand.

"The girl, Molly, will be more of the challenge. The thing that finally pushed Daniel to report everything, was… well, you can probably draw a grim picture without knowing the details."

"Sexual abuse?"

"Yeah, on top of everything else. She hit puberty and daddy took notice. Mommy was too high to give a shit. It's like the sick shit you read about in the news. So, she's pretty withdrawn at this point, but she idolises Daniel. He started standing up for her and taking sever beatings for his effort. Mark took notice of his being beaten. He'd always suspected, but that made it perfectly clear.

"Anyway, they've been staying with us and we're a few rounds of paperwork away from it being official. Mark's never been happier and to tell the truth, I think it's made me fall in love with him all over again."

Tapping out your cigarette and leaving it on the ledge, you consider her words. A familiar twinge of jealously nips at you for a moment. It was that selfish part of you that wanted that area of her heart all to yourself, even if the two of you chose to never act on it again.

"How about you, Greg? Besides all this business, things must be going alright. I heard about the house and obviously the engagement. Big steps. All for dating for just a few months."

"You know me. When it feels right, I go all in." Waggling your eyebrows, you form a circle with your thumb and forefinger around the shaft of your cane and thrust it in and out suggestively, resulting in the air becoming charged with sexual tension. Sex between you never was the issue.

"Yeah, I remember." She smiles smugly, and takes a sidestep closer to you. Then leans back on the ledge. "One week and you had me subletting my condo."

"Me? You were the one that kept showing up at my place for booty calls every night. Then rushing back to your place at 4:30 in the morning, waking my ass up, so you could get changed for work. I thought Frankenburg was going to pass out the third day in a row I came into work early, and it was stupid to pay for a place you weren't planning on using as more than a dressing room."

"You're definitely all or nothing at all, aren't you?" She asks the question you both know the answer is yes.

Sliding over a side step yourself, you lean back on the ledge as well arms touching. Giving her a nudge with your shoulder you say sincerely, "We made it five years. I think we did okay."

She smiles, then huffs, "When we weren't doing okay."

"Yeah. But we were good at fighting too." You lean against her again, ribbing and teasing, effortlessly falling back into the familiar rhythm.

She smiles and raises an eyebrow, "I think you're getting that confused with being good at making up."

The air is thick between you now. Obviously, the sexual tension was never going to go away. Lucky for both of you, your wiser half is having a good day today and you decide to change the direction of the conversation while you're ahead.

"Did you ever tell Mark?" Well, sort of change it. Perhaps it's wise to remind her, and yourself, to be guilty when together.

She sighs deeply. "What possible good could come from that?"

Yeah. She's right. No good whatsoever. It was over and telling Mark would only make a wound that might not heal. As far as you were concerned, the least selfish thing for her to do is to bare the cross of her guilt alone and let Mark continue to have faith in his wife. If she was truly sorry, it was the path of least hurt. Total honesty is for the birds.

After a moment, she pulls out her pack of smokes and silently offers you another. Taking it you think, _What the hell? Might as well get another in._ You and she had always had a sort of understanding. It had gotten lost after the infarction, but all things being equal it seems to have returned. You are comfortable with her, had been from the beginning.

It had taken her two dates to get comfortable with you, but considering you're you, that was lightning fast. You can only say that about one other person and he's still your only true friend. Sadly, you still seem to have ground to cover in that regard with Allison. This whole situation simply served to remind you things still aren't at one hundred percent with her. You want it to be. You want her to be the person you can share everything with.

Thinking back to Stacy's question, the one that took a tangent down memory lane, you pondered the shared perception that things are moving quickly between you and Allison. Everyone keeps saying it, but in truth you've been on a slow simmer with her from the first day you met her. You finally got your head out of your ass, and now you'll be damned if you are going to waste any more time.

"I recently figured out that I was being an idiot."

"I could have told you that."

"I mean with Allison. The house, the engagement, going so fast. It's really not fast at all. I've known her for six years. She's been in love with me for at least five of those. I think we both imagined some hot and sweaty desk sex together even before that. I almost gave into the idea. Wilson and Cuddy both thought I should years back. I dunno what kind of sign it is when your boss encourages you to date your much younger employee. I didn't think Allison had a clue what she was really asking for and I was in no mood to be her teacher at home and at work. I figured what I felt was what middle-age guys feel when an extremely pretty girl half their age shows interest. I never liked the idea of being flattered or adored and I knew I could make her into a great doctor if her head wasn't stuck on what a bastard I was turning out to be at home.

"I wasn't in love with her then. I wasn't ready to be in love with anyone else yet. I realized that after she played substitute-WIlson at that Monster truck rally that he ditched me on, so he could have dinner with you. I also realized that I did like her as more than just an employee and that scared the hell out of me because I wasn't ready yet. I came back here after I took her home and pulled out the one picture of us that I didn't throw out — the one from the state fair picture booth. I thought that I felt like that guy again with her that night, and that guy was just about a month away from being crushed like those cars I'd just watched be run over. He didn't have a clue how bad losing love felt.

"Allison was so easy to be happy with and I was afraid to get used to it. I saw it clear as day on the date she made me take her on. I was an animal backed into a corner. I'd gone in with the idea that maybe I was being stupid, that maybe Cuddy and Wilson were right. That five years was enough time to wallow, but she was too young. Too naive. I didn't want to be the one to turn her into some miserable old bitch. I was never going to be some sort of frog-turned-prince by true love's kiss.

"Then you showed up with Mark. Then you were gone again and by the time I reconsidered Allison with any seriousness, she'd wised up enough to turn me down. I think she thought it was a test. I guess it kind of was. Really, I kind of wanted her to say yes but, to be honest, I would have been just as happy at that point if Mistress Cuddy would have asked me to her chambers for some deep dicking. When I figured out Allison was sleeping with Chase, I was actually happy for them. Happy she'd not ended up with a bastard like me, but was still around for me to flirt with. Still there for me to observe and figure out.

"Then one night, a few months ago, I was with her and thought, damn I've been a stupid bastard. Here is this smart, funny, sexy woman that I know likes me. The only women I've ever wanted more than sex from are now committed to other men, so every day I wonder if I'll always be alone. All the while there is this great woman right in front of me every day who wants me. So, I thought, 'fuck it' and asked her out in a way that didn't seem like a joke and that was the smartest thing I may have ever done.

"It's not been fast at all. I just stopped being stupid and decided it was time to give this thing a try. Try being with someone who, for whatever reason, only wants to be with me." After a moment, feeling as if you need to lighten the serious turn in mood you add, "And she's maybe as close to female Wilson as I'll ever get, so unless he and I decide to finally give into the rumors, this might be the next best thing."

She laughs at that, and moves to stand in front of you. Placing a hand on your cheek, she tells you, "I am really glad. I guess maybe we both have stopped being stupid. Sometimes love just isn't enough to make it work. I think we both got lucky."

Raising your left hand, you take the hand against your cheek and give a squeeze. Just then you catch something out of the corner of your eye. Glancing towards the door, your heart drops like a rock to the pit of your gut and you pull your hand from Stacy's like it is as hot as the pot handle that burned your other hand. Stacy picks up your line of sight and pulls her hand away, but with less force, choosing to play things cool. Then again, you weren't doing anything wrong at all. It just feels like it for some reason, having Allison catch the tender moment you had shared with your former lover.

"I thought I'd find you both up here." She states, seemingly unphased, except for the guarded way she crosses her arms over her body as if cold. "I saw Stacy's stuff in your office. I needed to iron some things out with the transfer and immunology department. I missed lunch. Wanted to see if either of you wanted to catch a late one?" She was kicking at the asphalt roofing and the longer she was there with the two of you, the more uncomfortable things became.

Stacy felt it too and thankfully bowed out. "I grabbed a sandwich right after our meeting and," she pulls her cell from her pocket to check the time, "I have to get on the road. I've got to beat the kids home. Maybe we can take a raincheck for tomorrow. Everything is going to be fine and afterward we can catch an early dinner if you'd like. I can get Mark to meet us."

"Sure. Sounds good." Allison replies and puts on a smile.

Stacy nods and leaves. As she passes Allison, she places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze and the younger woman smiles politely before Stacy walks away and down the stairwell.

"I ate too, but I don't have a case, so I could— "

"Na, it's fine. I'll just see if Foreman or Chase are around, if not I'll make a sandwich at home."

"Just so you know, and this is not me being defensive, but I… there wasn't anything going on just then. I was just worried and she was just being nice. It's just…" you were struggling to find a word to describe your comfort level with Stacy that wouldn't sound like a warning siren for Allison.

"Hey, I get it. It's fine." Woman translation: _this is not fine at all_. "I almost married another guy, I get that there is some part of you that will always be part of the other person. I mean, if you really did love them, and I know you loved her." The last statement came out as a whisper. You put your arm around her.

"Loved. I'm not in love with her now, Allison. Please believe that." You beg, head down like you used to with your mother after doing something you shouldn't have. She sighs.

"I'm just really tired of this whole mess. That's all. I need to get this all behind me and get back to work. I'm going stir crazy with you here and me sitting around at home all day."

"So, my dreams of your becoming Donna Reed aren't in the cards?"

"Oh, we could role play that, but we'll have to turn in the king bed for two twins. No self respecting 50s housewife sleeps in the same bed as her husband." She delivers the line so deadpan you are not sure if she's playing or just being bitchy.

You hope for the former and reply, "I have a big dick, but not that big."

* * *

She won't admit it, but you know you're officially in the dog house. The hearing was over, Stacy kicked ass, as you knew she would. You gave Allison space the whole night prior, taking her at her word that she was just dreading the whole thing, but now it's over and Allison is about as warm towards you as a frozen princess.

Stacy went the extra mile, after finding out that the patient's parents had been loitering around outside the office, waiting for the decision. She approached them. Sat them down, explained the stark reality of the situation to them with the right balance of logic and compassion. Allison was under orders to avoid them, and so she did, reluctantly.

You desperately wanted to linger and hear how Stacy defused the situation and convinced them that a malpractice suit wasn't in the interest of anyone. But you had driven Allison in and Cuddy had suggested, well more like ordered, both of you to cash in a few days of vacation. "Go forget the week ever happened." With the transition looming on the horizon, Cuddy had explained Allison might not find herself able to get away from work for a while. You had your suspicions Stacy had a hand in that too.

Allison was offended by the suggestion, you're sure she felt it confirmed all the doubts she was having about herself and it was just another thing for her to brood about. It was beginning to drive you nuts and your patience was all but run out. And now, you are stuck beside your sulking fianceè and across from your ex's smug husband. You'd like to go home and have a couple shots of bourbon and play piano.

You also take note, as Mark bores you with talk of his job, that the playful ribbing the women had been making at your expense was gone. Stacy made an effort now and again, but Allison never took the bait.

Of course, when Mark began talking about their foster kids, Allison perked up a bit. She was always a sucker for lost puppies and abused children. "Yeah, it was a fucked up situation all 'round. But thankfully Daniel was able to talk to me about it and finally get help. He's a great kid. Smart, funny, great potential. Just drew the short end of the stick with parents. Molly is struggling, but Daniel says he and her were like peas in a pod before—" his eyes drop and he fiddles with the label on his beer. "Hopefully, time and a decent set of adults taking care of her will help her come to terms with what happened so she can move on and have a better life," he finishes and takes a big swig.

Allison shakes her head and scowls. "I can't understand how any parent could do that to their own kid… any kid for that matter. The human race sickens me sometimes."

"Yeah. I've always wanted kids," he freely admits, "but it wasn't in the cards. Then I see assholes like that with two great kids, and they do that to them…" his face reddens with anger. "It's just another reminder that life is far from fair."

Allison nods in agreement and takes a drink from her beer before asking, "Did you guys try to have kids?"

Mark nods, "Yeah. We weren't really doing anything to prevent it before I got sick. We thought if it happens, great, if not, that's fine, too. After the recovery, we decided to give more extreme measures a try, but no luck there either. The treatments were kinda intense, especially for Stacy, and after a couple of failed attempts we figured it wasn't meant to be."

Allison gave Mark a sympathetic look and avoided Stacy's eyes all together. That drives home your theory she was pissed off about what she'd seen, but has decided she shouldn't be or — fuck, just be honest with yourself, you have no idea what's running through her pretty little head anymore.

Your eyes fixed on Stacy. Kids. She had wanted them. You never got that far with her. Sure, in the beginning, you said the standard things all couples who've put career over relationships say. "Who needs kids?" Or you'd see the random brat around and say, "Jesus, glad we don't have to deal with that shit." As the years passed, it evolved to the occasional, "If we ever have kids this or that."

She had no idea you had wanted to take the next step. No idea you were literally days away from asking her to be your wife. That you had wondered, now and again, what a kid made with her would look like, or how they'd act. You figured the world better watch the fuck out if your DNA got in contact with hers. It'd be one headstrong kid, without a doubt. Maybe if she'd tried with you, when she was a better age, she could have been a mother.

She couldn't or wouldn't return your look. Obviously, she'd had the same thought at some point or why would she avoid your eyes so completely?

Mark's voice filters through your thoughts. "So, how about you? Think you'll start a family once you guys get hitched?"

Damn him.

"Well, we've talked about it a little." Allison answers vaguely, having picked up on the tension between you and Stacy and now looking a little uncomfortable herself, because she'd caught you staring at your ex. You really hate Mark. Now you have to decide. Avoid the subject with a shrug and make Allison even more sure that you're having some sort of second thoughts, or jump in and tell him all your hopes and dreams about fatherhood, and likely make the night even more bitter sweet for Stacy. There is only so much being happy for you, before it all just becomes more regret for what might have been.

You debate how much you should share with them, finally deciding you want Stacy to know. "We had a little pregnancy scare. It brought up the subject and we both decided we liked the idea. We'd like two kids. Close together and sometime in the next couple of years, so I'm not a million and one when they go to college. Obviously, we'd like to get used to living with each other a little while longer before we try to do it on purpose."

Stacy takes in a deep breath and composes herself with a faint smile. "Who are you and what did you do with Greg House?" she jokes. And everyone has a chuckle at your expense. Then she looks to Allison. "Well, don't wait too long. You may think you have plenty of time, but if something's not quite right, with either of you, it might take a few years to figure it all out. Then you may find you are too old to want to start at the very beginning. It's one reason we didn't go the route of adopting a baby after the failed attempts to get pregnant. It started feeling like we'd missed the window of opportunity. That's why we are really excited about fostering Daniel and Molly. We can skip the messy baby parts but still have the chance to be good parents for someone. Hell, by all rights we should be closer to being grandparents rather than new parents anyway."

That last bit digs at you but you push back the urge to lash out, only because you are pretty sure Stacy wasn't trying to take a shot at you. But it stings all the same, because you are all too aware that you are old enough to be Allison's father. You are not looking forward to being mistaken for your children's grandfather, or heaven forbid, your wife's father.

You've never been more happy for a dinner to end since maybe the awful first date with Allison. Finally, in her car and on the road back home, you sigh, "Well, that was awkward."

"Was it?" Allison evades, staring out the passenger side window.

"Oh, come on. You're pissed at me. Just grow up and admit it and let's move on."

"I'm not pissed at you, Greg. I'm just— "

"Tired. Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that, but it's bullshit. You're pissed because you think something happened on the roof yesterday that didn't."

"I don't think anything happened."

"Oooooh yes you do." You raise your voice. "Sure, you don't think that anything _physical_ happened. You don't think we kissed or fucked or what the fuck ever else… but you think we _wanted_ to. Which is just as bad. Because if we want to fuck, then you are sure it's just a matter of time until we will. Because Stacy and I are not like _you_ and too good to cheat. Right?"

"You're the one saying it, not me." She scoffs and puts her head in her hand. "I've had a long week. I don't want to fight. I'm still not over this thing with Vickie and I'm not sure how the hell I'm supposed to go back to work like nothing happened when I know that my fuck up more or less killed her! Cuddy obviously doesn't think I'm able either."

Smacking your hand against the steering wheel, and immediately regretting it as some lingering tenderness from the burns causes it to backfire pain into your hand, you deride her defensive comments. "Oh, now you finally want to talk to me about that! Well, I'm so fucking glad that you feel like you love and trust me enough to confide in me about the big traumatic events in your life!"

"Come off it, Greg!" She shouts back, turning toward you in her seat, "I know you think I fucked up. It's written all over your face." She waves her hands dismissively. "Under all that caring boyfriend act, House is in there screaming. Well, maybe I don't want to hear it. I worked with you for years, remember? I know just how much you look down on the connection I make with patients. You're probably dancing a jig on the inside because you get to be right again!" She gives his arm a sarcastic backhanded pat. "I shouldn't be making friends! I should be observing and diagnosing."

Grabbing her by the wrist, you throw her offending hand toward her lap. Full on screaming, while trying not to wreck the car.

"Yeah, well maybe I don't give a shit what you want to hear! You obviously need to hear it again, because despite all the time you spend with me and under me, in _every_ sense of the word, you fucked up and someone died. And guess what? You're fucking human and it fucking happens. Now grow the fuck up, lick your fucking wounds, and act like you're the doctor I think you are instead of this pathetic excuse of one that's sitting across from me in the car right now. I don't know who the fuck this doctor is, but she's not the Cameron I know. She's just a scared little girl who's wrecked her bike and skinned her knee and is too busy crying to mommy to get the fuck back on and show the world she's a big girl and can drive without fucking training wheels!"

The car falls silent save the noise of the engine and the wheels on the asphalt. You glance over and see she's stunned to silence. As your anger subsides, you find you're pulling into your drive. You open the garage and pull the car in, turn off the engine and wait. You're not sure what she's thinking or feeling right now, and you have no idea if you've just fucked everything up. But the damned thing has come to a head and you can't take any of it back now. In fact, you don't even want to.


	15. Respect, Love and Trust

_A/N: Another big thanks to astavares and like-waves-on-the-beach and to everyone reviewing and chatting on the side. But I know people are chomping at the bit so I'll not be cruel and make you all wait any longer._

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Respect, Love and Trust**

Allison Cameron is surprisingly agile. You aren't quite sure how she managed to traverse the center console and end up in your lap with her tongue down your throat, but she has. The swarm of emotion in your chest that was nearing the boiling point as you stared out the driver's side door, waiting for, well… not for _this_ for sure, finally boiled over in response. You bite her lip and yank her skirt the rest of its way up her legs, around her waist.

"Uhhhhmmm, yehhhh," she moans gutturally and bites back, flavoring the kiss with iron as she fumbles with your belt and pants opening. Your hands round her perfect little ass, and stretch her open, her panties wedge between her labia. The tips of your fingers graze her hair and slide easily against the moisture forming there. Your left hand pushes the offending fabric of her soft satin panties to one side as your middle and ring fingers find their way inside her. Pumping her only serves to hasten her quest to free your cock from the confines of your pants and boxers.

"Ohhhh, Gaaawwd mmmm," you mumble as she finally wraps her long, slender fingers around your throbbing prick, your mouths still locked in a fierce battle of dominance. You've never told her just how much you love her fingers. So slim and long and… goddamned talented with sticks.

She wastes no time pushing herself up, forward and back down, replacing wet fingers with your swollen cock. It was almost as intense as your very first time. Almost as if you had forgotten just how hot she is on the inside, how slick the walls of her vagina feel as they encase you completely, how it feels when the tip of your penis makes contact with her uterus when she pushes onto you fully, the little grunt she makes that's somewhere in the realm of pleasurable pain when the angle lets you in just ever so much deeper than you really should fit.

Her pussy feels like it was tailored to fit your dick.

Hands are in your hair now, pulling and grabbing as she grinds her clit against your pubic bone. It's getting her the fuck off, but you need more slick friction and you aren't in a giving mood. If she needs to get this fuck out of her system, you're tired of fighting it. You'll fuck her, and it'll be damn good.

Grabbing her ass more tightly, you pull her up and slam her back down. She'll bruise. Her fair skin can't take this sort of punishment without marking. That makes you smile. Hopefully you'll still get to see her ass and your handy work tomorrow to confirm it, but if this is some sort of I'm-pissed-and-breaking-up-with-you fuck, then best make it one that she has to feel with every move she makes for the next two days.

You pull her back and slam her down on you again, still needing more. You push against her iliac crests for more leverage and both of you hit your heads on the ceiling of the car as her ass makes full contact with the steering wheel, firing off the horn. Her right hand leaves your head as you both grimace. She leans toward the door and next thing you know the seat falls backward and she is fully on top of you and begins to grind against you again, fighting your thrusts in favor of holding you deep and rubbing her clit again, hard against your pubic symphysis.

It kinda hurts. It's a good hurt. Your leg hurts too. Fuck your leg. _God, fuck her tight little cunt more._ Grabbing her again, you push her up and down, gaining the friction your dick is demanding. She finally gives in and fucks you hard and fast. With her now doing the work, your hands are free to help her along in other ways. Your right rips open her blouse and buttons fly to every corner of the car, her bra is next on your path and you pull it down and pinch her hard nipple between your fingers. She bites your lower lip again.

Your left thumb makes its way onto her needy clit, oscillating briskly. She cries out and falls against you. Having little leverage to move against her you order, "Keep fucking me woman! It's going to hurt if you don't!" Pushing up, she finds the energy to move her hips, undulating at a furious pace. Flesh smacks against flesh; the sounds fills the silence of the car. Your head falls back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you see white and finally explode inside of her.

She falls forward again as your body twitches the last of your orgasm. This time you let her rest, pulling her tightly against you, hoping against hope that whatever this hot, messy fuck was, it means you are going to be okay.

You lie there together for at least five minutes. Her draped over your body, in the reclined driver's seat. Both your breathing has regulated. She isn't crying, at least. The car is dark and silent save the clicks of the cooling engine. Your hand finds its way into her long hair, and you start caressing the soft strands as you continue to stare at the ceiling and wonder where things are between you now.

"Have I screwed this all up?" she asks quietly against your neck.

Kissing her temple softly you reply, "No. I probably can take credit for all the screwing. Well, the screw you just gave me, was all your doing, but…"

You can feel her lips form a quick smile, before she finally begins to bare her feelings. "I didn't expect something like this to screw with me so much if I wasn't working for you. I wanted you to treat me like you always have. Tell me I'm an idiot and to move on. But I liked that you were nice to me, too, so my mind started playing tricks on me. I started wondering if the way you were acting simply meant you loved me or if it meant you'd stopped respecting me as a doctor but still wanted to be with me. Sorry, I'm babbling, and making it seem like it's your fault, when you've been really great."

You hate that she blames herself. "In your defense, I am an asshole. I've always pushed everyone away. Even Wilson has tried to leave me more than once, but lucky for me he has some sort of strange addiction to my neediness that keeps bringing him back."

"I thought your dick was named Little Greg."

"Hardy, har," you say sarcastically.

Another pregnant pause makes you overly aware of the sound of silence. You're not sure what else to say, content for the moment to continue to hold her here, despite it not being very comfortable. She breaks the silence again. "I love you. I know you love me, but I, more than anything, have always needed… even craved, your respect. You don't bullshit people, but you especially don't bullshit people you respect. You're blunt, you're an ass, you tell them what they need to hear, and don't spare their feelings on the delivery. I've seen you be nice occasionally with people you really pity, or people you find some sort of connection with because of their pain, but…" she sighs, "I dunno."

After a beat, she starts to fiddle with a button on your shirt collar and continues, "I think that's what bothered me with Stacy yesterday. It wasn't that her hand was on your cheek. I still have times where Chase or I catch each other on a bad day and stuff like that happens. It's normal. It would take more for me to assume you're having an affair. But I know you were able to talk to her about me in a way you don't feel like you can with me. You've never treated Stacy like a trophy or a piece of art. You've always treated her like an equal.

"Like I said, it was really _nice_ , having you be so caring. But, I couldn't shake the idea that you'd lost the respect I'd worked so hard to earn from you. I'm still struggling, but it helped to hear you say you expect better — that you still have expectations for me."

Kissing her forehead, you consider her words. It makes you think of how things were between you and your father. You understand, that as much as you want her to be your equal too, you will always have been her mentor and neither of you has really figured out the balance as well as you thought you had. It was going to take time, but it's time you want to spend. It's a puzzle that you want to solve.

With a heavy breath you tell her, "I'm sorry I suck so bad at praise. I guess, as much as I hated him, I managed to pick up some of the worst traits from my father. He never thought doing a job well was praiseworthy. It was just something you're supposed to do. I hated that he never acted proud of me. I don't want to screw this up. I want you to be able to have a place that you can get away from all the shit at work. Like if you had a normal boyfriend, not another doctor or your former boss. I want to be there for you like you've always been for me, without judgement."

"Greg, I don't want you to be someone you're not just because we're not at work. I'm all for us having our work hats with names or by not making out in in front of patients, but our work is going to come home with us. I don't want some normal non-doctor guy. I want you and I want to be able to work through these things together. This is not your fault. I'm the one who clammed up about the whole thing. I wanted you to rip me a new one for being so stupid, but I was afraid to hear it too, because I don't have a wall up with you anymore. I was afraid that now that we're together, I wouldn't be able to handle your criticism. I figured I knew what you thought anyway. But the more we got out of sync, the more my mind kept playing tricks and thought it was just a matter of time before I found out that you really did just think of me as lobby art."

"No, I don't think you're lobby art anymore. I now consider you to be my private art collection."

She's quiet again. You aren't sure if she took what you said as a compliment or not. There has to be some way you can prove to her that you respect her as well as love her. Your case is closed, so you can't pull her into that. You can call Cuddy and demand Allison go back to work so she can get back into the groove, but you'd also like a few days of uninterrupted 'healing sex.' You have tickets to the monster truck thing this weekend too. Maybe Wilson would be willing to sacrifice your man time and give his to Allison again.

Well, that's all well and good, but she needs something more in order for you to prove you respect her professionally.

You could make her your medical proxy before you get married, before she becomes it by default. It would not only show that you trust her medical judgement but also that you trust her. That after being burned so badly by Stacy, you respect her enough to trust her with your medical decisions. You do trust her, in fact. More than anyone, because she would never be that selfish. She has proven it time and again.

"I think you should take Wilson's ticket to the monster truck rally this weekend. This time, it's a date with the date part. Just like it should have been the first time. Monday, we should take care of the medical proxies. With everything that's been going on, we never did change yours from Chase and I want you to be mine as well. Who knows when work is going to settle down for you to plan this wedding and I don't want anyone else between us if something happens. I do respect you, Allison, I always have. I also trust you more than anyone. Even Wilson.

"Afterward, maybe we can go on a bike trip somewhere overnight. Hell, wanna get a real road bike for that? Mine's fun for city driving and all but for a long trip something built for two, with some saddle bags for our stuff would work better."

"I think I'd like that. I've missed us."

"Yeah, me too."


	16. New Beginnings

_AN: So I feel like it's been forever. No one is more bummed about it than me. Well, maybe atavares but that's because she's a good friend and excellent motivator. But when one stills in front of a computer for work all day long, more computing in the off hours is just hard to face. I will at least say that my work is like cheesecake. I love it, but at some point there can actually be too much of it._

 _Super big thanks to both atavares and like-waves-on-the-beach! It's a big ass story and I am always grateful for your making the time to help me out._

 _Also, a quick shout out to_ _MadDelight for plugging my stories. She's tossing out some great new Hameron so, if you're in need of some new stuff, check out her stories. :) - I love the little connections we make through our various fandoms._

 _You've waited long enough. Get on with the real reason you came here!_

* * *

 **Chapter 16: New Beginnings**

The rest of July passed by like a whirlwind. Allison threw herself into work and, by the second week of August, had closed the chapter on her working life in the E.R. and was settling into her new position as Associate Director of Immunology. Thanks to her extreme thoroughness and a solid hire on the part of Cuddy to backfill the E.R. position, the transition was made on time and without a hitch in both departments. At least according to Allison her replacement was solid. You rather think he's a bit of a loser, but then again, you think that about 99% of people.

Things are going so smoothly, in fact, that Allison is able to schedule a vacation before the fall semester starts at Princeton. You are more than excited because between her crazy schedule and a more than normal caseload for you, you've been like ships passing in the night. Granted the sex you are having is epic, but truth be told you really miss just hanging out with her.

Allison ended up taking on an intern with her new role. The new girl is about as morally flexible as a brick wall. Honest to a degree that makes Allison look like politician. There is no greater red flag in the universe than Allison Cameron telling someone they don't always have to 'do the right thing' or that 'sometimes lying is a good thing.' However, the girl has an I.Q. and awkward personality to rival yours, so if you can corrupt her a little, she might be worth something one day. Allison, knowing you, has done her best to shield the poor girl from you, but you have your ideas on how to loosen up her proverbial anal orifice.

Your team has settled into a rhythm with Cheng staying on. The best part of Taub's hire is she absolutely hates Taub. After two weeks she came to you to quit, but you offered to fire Taub if she stayed, stating you had just gotten used to 'getting your Asian persuasion on.' Taub was entertaining for sure, but Cheng, after getting the feel for your team, was right. A lot. Or at least had lots of good ideas to get you to the right answer.

She also spoke Mandarin fluently, being a second generation American. Both her parents immigrated to the United States from China not long before she was born. So, your most favorite new thing is to discuss cases with her in Mandarin with the rest the team in the room. At first, she would answer you back in English to keep the group at least half informed, but after a particularly nasty argument with Taub, decided to play along anytime it was just the three of you. She hates fakeness, so it's no stretch that Taub, the sneaky, cheating, former plastic surgeon, would rub her the wrong way.

She asked you if she could hold the fire-Taub-card for a while. You told her his fate was in her hands for as long as he was your toy to play with. Then you made sure to find a way to leak that information to Taub, and the result has been some of the most entertaining groveling you've ever been witness to.

Allison and your crazy schedules has had one added benifit — more sex at work. Nearly every lunch break starts or ends with a make out session in some dark corner of the hospital. Or her new office, which much to your surprise and pleasure, was not full of windows. It was more or less Wilson's office, next floor up. Allison had laid it out in a very similar way. You had expected Allison's new boss to take that office, since it had been the department head's for as long as you've been here, but she hadn't wanted to bother changing offices because she liked her windowed walls. You should send her a thank you card or something.

Despite Allison working lots of overtime to ease the transition, and now having weekly board meetings, her normal shift promised to be far more regular. She had patients being scheduled in and out, two classes scheduled the same block on alternating days, but those had yet to start. It was far easier for her to have a normal lunch time. Generally, you are able to get away from your work too for a quick nibble.

Like right now.

You walk into her office and shut the door behind you, and she looks up and you both exchange grins. As you lean your left shoulder against the door, she sits up in her chair and starts unbuttoning her dark purple blouse, shrugging it off and laying it neatly over her desk. It is the order of things now. No scrubs means no careless tossing of clothes in wrinkled heaps on the floor. She prides herself on looking professional and well dressed for her new job and you get the value of a nearly daily striptease. A fair trade in any man's book.

She has taken to wearing her sexiest undergarments too. God, this new job of hers was the best thing that has happened to you in a long time! Her current ensemble is a light mauve, with pretty, darker purple embroidery. _A matching garter belt today too. Oh… Fuck yeah_ , you think as she stands and steps out of her knee-length dark grey skirt, also placing it neatly across her desk to avoid it becoming wrinkled. Her little matching thong was put on over the belt and she turns and shimmies out, bending over giving you a full view of her gorgeous ass, and the slightest hint of her mound, causing your jeans to feel more than a little tight.

Looking over her shoulder as she stands back up, she raises an eyebrow at the site of you staring at her. Her hands raise up behind her to unclasp her bra. She turns and tosses it at you playfully. Catching it, you drop it to the floor and push off the door, moving forward toward her, staying focused on your goal. "Sit on the front of the desk. You wet for me already?"

"You know I am," she says as she scoots up on the front of her desk, being careful to avoid her clothes. Her legs spread wide as you step between them. They wrap around you as she frees Little Greg and begins to pump him slowly. You lean in, toss your cane across the desk, and put a fist on either side of her, kissing her cheek, nibbling an ear and licking her pulse point. She bites your ear lobe in response and rubs the head of your penis between her labia — clit to entrance and back again.

She's so warm and slick and after a few strokes, you push into her the next moment you're aligned with her entrance. There is no better feeling than being here — at home — inside of her. Feeling every inch of your cock become enveloped in her wet heat.

"Slow or fast?" you ask, not able to decide yourself. Both have advantages and you're not sure which sounds better at the moment.

"Slow. I've got time today. Masters is a one woman wrecking crew."

"Ugg. Don't ruin the imagery. I guess it just proves I failed in teaching you the first lesson of how to be a successful team leader," you tease as you set a steady pace and she responded with a corresponding rolls of her hips.

"Yeah… oh, what's that?" she asks in between licks and nibbles to your neck.

"If you hire a girl, she has to be hot, otherwise where's the fun. There's no puzzle and you can't bring her home for a threesome. Lose, lose…"

Oh, the things she can do to distract your train of thought with her talented little… "Goddamn, if you keep squeezing me like that I am going to come way too fast." She gives you a doed eyed look, acting as if she doesn't know what she's doing to your dick.

"Masters isn't ugly, Greg. She's just not figured out how to be sexy _and_ smart yet. You've seen my high school pictures. I wore coke bottle glasses because I hated contacts, baggy boy clothes to fit in with the guys in the band. I was a bookworm and a band geek. At college, I started thinking I couldn't get a job if I didn't dress more professionally and kinda started to enjoy dress clothes and fixing my hair and after a while, felt comfortable embracing the power it gives me instead shying away from it. Of course, now I have deal with jerks who just want to hire me for my 'stunning little tail.'"

With a bite to her ear you tease back, "Cuddy really is an ass woman. You should report her to H.R. But, I've been in that stunning little tail, so I can't really say I blame her… Oh, fuck with the squeezing again! Allison, baby, I want to last longer, but squeezing my dick like that isn't helping the cause."

A noise registers behind you. You freeze, and then a female voice mutters, "Dr. Cameron, I have that chart you requested earlier… Oh.." There is the sound of papers hitting the floor then, "Oh god I'm so… Oh god," and a door slam.

Allison's head finds your chest as you begin to snicker and thrust into her more quickly in an attempt to stay hard while laughing. "Speak of the devil. No, the devil wouldn't have her, she's way too uptight. Speaking of tight, now would actually be a great time to do that thing with your pussy again. So I don't lose my hard-on." You're still laughing. It really is way too funny.

She groans over getting caught by her intern, not out of embarrassment you are sure, but more because she'll just have to deal with the Queen of Awkward for at least a week before Masters'll be able to cope with it straight-faced. After a few seconds, she starts to laugh too, and both of you are lost. She tries to give you a squeeze but fails. It's hopeless now. You both give up, laughter filling the room, as your cock slides out, white flag raised.

Snorting, she pushes you up and slides off the desk. "Oh my god, I can't believe that just happened. And with _Masters_ of all people. Like the _one_ person who wouldn't think to knock first on the door of the person dating the infamous Dr. House." You zip with a smirk and find her bra you tossed aside earlier. She looks at you as you hand it to her and questions, "Why didn't you lock the door?"

Shrugging, you answer, "I was distracted, I guess. Besides, everyone else here knows better then to enter when we are in a room together with a closed door. I bet the nurses put her up to it." She turns, pulls her hair up and you put your cane over your left forearm so you can help her fasten the harness back on her fun bags. "God, I should have turned to see her face! I bet it was priceless. Did you get a look at her?"

"God, no!" Allison adjusts her breasts in the cups before grabbing her shirt and slipping it on, then faces you as she buttons it. "I buried my face in your chest remember? At least she couldn't see much from that angle."

"I'm sure she saw plenty with your stocking-clad legs wrapped around me." You look down at them again, while you can. They're very beautiful legs, no question. "Oh, man! I'm never letting her live this down." Allison shoots you a warning glare as she bends over to step into her skirt, hiding away your favorite parts again. You hold your hands up. "I know you've been protecting her from me, but this is too good not to torture her with."

* * *

You've been talking to Allison's mother, Mary Cameron, for two weeks now. She friended you on Facebook, which was a surprise. It seems she, like you, is keen on putting this strange little feud with Allison and David Cameron to bed. It was obvious that David was not going to find a way to come visit you as things are, so you needed to find a way to get Allison there.

Mary was full of sneaky plans. You liked that. She was a silver-haired devil wrapped up in sugar and spice. She was also still rather attractive. Allison was right, she didn't look in her mid 60s at all save the pure white hair. It suited her though. Her body, her skin, her everything else you'd guess ten years younger. With genes like that, it's no wonder Allison looked like a kid when you hired her.

"So you've got the tickets? And you know how to get there?" Mary asks you over the phone, her voice rather similar to your fiancée's.

"Yes, Mom! Jeez, there's this new thing called a GPS and it's really nifty. Tells you right where to go." Oh, you aren't calling her mom for real, that's just your normal sarcasm.

"Stop being a smart ass — oh wait, never mind. I wouldn't want the world to start spinning the wrong direction or for spacetime to fold in on itself."

"Don't think there is enough dark matter for that, even if you count the large mass that makes up my soul."

"I'd not put much past you."

"Wise woman. Don't worry about the details, I'll get Allison there. She's very excited about meeting my bio-dad's widow and some of my half siblings. I'm pretty sure she won't even have a clue. God, this is going to be so awesome. I'd just like to say you are already my all-time favorite mother-in-law."

"We'll see. My acting chops are rusty, but there was a time I was really good."

"Well, Allison has a flair for it, too, so I'm guessing you'll be fine. See you soon."

"Bye, Greg."

* * *

The work week came to an end, plane tickets were printed and bags were packed before bed. By 10:00 Saturday morning, you find yourself settling into the first class section of Delta flight 1087, Newark to Cincinnati. It is a relatively short flight, just a few hours in the air. Allison, being herself, made sure to pick your seats on the left side of the plane so your bad leg is on the aisle where you can stretch it fully when needed. Not to mention the aisle seats have far more head room on the smaller plane, with the curve of the plane cutting out a few inches of headroom on the window seats. She takes the seat next to the window. As soon as you are in the air and leveling off, she grabs the Sky Shopping magazine and flips through it looking at all of the ridiculous items for sale.

She loaded a few episodes of Breaking Bad on her iPad for you, since she had watched ahead while she was stuck at home during her week from hell. It's nice. Doing nice things comes so easily for her. Occasionally, you still get plagued with the thought it's unfair she's stuck with a guy like you, and you remind yourself that for whatever reason, it seems to work for her. Settling back in your chair, you pull the iPad out and turn it on. A few moments later you are engrossed in the double life of Walter White.

After two episodes, you put the device down and take a piss break. Once you get back, you tell Allison, "I totally should run a mega meth lab. I'd kick ass at that. And I'd be a far more natural criminal than Walter. I also have a way smarter sidekick. Together we'd rule the seedy underbelly of the meth business. Hell, we could clean up with all the access we have to pharmaceuticals."

"Keep on dreaming, Greg. You'll have to settle for being a boring diagnostic mastermind."

"I'm still going to corrupt your intern. I bet if we could get her just a little high, she'd cook the hell out of some meth. She looks like the kind of girl who aced chemistry without even having to give the teacher a blowjob." You raise an eyebrow in jest.

"Hey, now. I only did that in the alternate timeline. And you were my biology teacher, not chemistry, and I was you best student _before_ I started giving you those blowjobs."

"Oh, now. I think we covered chemistry quite thoroughly. You're smart, talented and beautiful proving yet again I know how to pick a great sidekick. You in the mile high club? Looks like the first class bathroom just opened back up."

"Yes, and it wasn't exactly that great. Those bathrooms aren't built for two, not to mention the smell." Her nose wrinkles at the thought. Yeah, they aren't that great, but you didn't want her to die without being in the club.

"Hey, just wanted to make sure you had it checked off your bucket list. Disappointed it wasn't with me, but also not a limber as I used to be, so not exactly going to twist your arm for it when we both know it's mostly hype."

You have a devilish thought then, "I could get the blanket out and help you rub one down. Think you can come with a straight face? I don't think you can."

"You're right. I can't. You're just going to have to wait 'til we get to your… Wait, what exactly is Roberta to you? Step mother? That doesn't seem right, exactly, but…"

"She's 'Chick Who Domesticated My Bio Dad'. Otherwise known as Roberta Caudill."

"Sounds a little too British to call her 'your Roberta' and I don't think it would fit in this context anyway."

"Well, right now she's nothing to me, so I think we can dispense with trying to relate her to me and just stick with Roberta. For all we know she and the whole lot of them have a basement full of dead bodies."

"You'd fit right in then."

"Only if they all happened to be killed with strange and exotice infectious deseases. In which case, so much more of my life would make sense."

* * *

It was about a forty-five minute drive from the Cincinnati airport to the little farm home just outside of Lawrenceburg, Indiana. It was a quaint place set back about 30 yards off the US highway. The grass was growing quite high in the yard but didn't seem out of place, given they had no immediate neighbors to compare lawn height to. The front door faced the main road and was under a porch whose roof was sagging just a little in the middle. There was no path from the gravel driveway to the front door, instead, the drive went around the left side of the home to a parking area in back.

You park your black Ford Focus rental away from the other car in the drive, by an old wooden shed greyed with age, turn off the engine and take a deep breath. "Well, I guess I'm doing this."

"It'll be fine, Greg. You've wanted to know most your life and you've never been one to back away from a puzzle."

"Yeah, but this puzzle might come with human baggage, and I generally don't like having to deal with the people parts of the puzzles."

"Look, your mom says from what she knows, you are a lot like your bio dad. Stands to reason you'll like his wife."

"Like she really knew him in any way other than the biblical sense. Of course she wants to believe we're alike. It makes everything she can't explain about my personality work out nice and neatly for her."

You open the door and are greeted by a mutt with its mouth open in a doggie grin and long spotted tongue hanging out. A large dog, built like a husky, with pointed ears and the overall body frame, but colored blond and white rather than the normal grey, red or black shades. Big brown eyes too. Most likely a mix of some sort.

"Tatum! Let the guy outta the car!" Upon hearing the woman's voice, the dog turns and runs like mad to its mistress, who has walked out from the back door of the home.

"Wow. She's beautiful!" Allison calls as she walks from the passenger's side of the door toward the two of them. The overly happy mutt turns back and makes a beeline for Allison, who squats to greet her and is rewarded with a tongue to the face as she pets the beast.

The older woman approaches Allison, laughing at the antics of her pooch. "She's pretty, has no common sense, and's hyper as fuck. She's half husky, half chow. Doesn't look or act a damn thing like a chow, save the blond fur, and she didn't manage to get the blue eyes either. Other'n that, she's husky through 'n' through. I'm Bertie. You must be Allison." She focuses away from the dog and Allison to take a good look at you.

She shakes her head as she regards you. "And this tall drinka water _must_ be Greg. My god, you are definitely one a Connor's! No fancy DNA test needed here fer damn sure. Welcome to the family! It's thirteen and counting now." She chuckles and grins. And you appreciate her laid back attitude about the whole thing. A lot of women might find it hard to be a constant welcome wagon for their husband's bastards, but she seemed to take it all in stride, and in fact seemed amused and proud.

Roberta Caudill, or Bertie as she prefered to be called, was a plain woman. Which is the nice way Allison might put it to imply she isn't very attractive. Perhaps she was once, but looks like she has spent more than a few years living hard. She is likely a good fifteen maybe even twenty years younger than Connor would have been. Her hair is long, mostly grey, with a few darker strands lingering, straight and pulled into a ponytail. Your guess is she's around the same age as your soon-to-be mother-in-law and few years younger than your mother.

She wore large thick glasses with round rims. When she smiled you could see she'd have benefited from braces and is obviously a smoker, but she did at least have her own teeth. Her face kind of reminds you of an older, human version of Janice, the female muppet in the Electric Mayhem band. Her clothes are old and well worn. Her fingers are tucked into jeans that look like they belonged in the 80's. Her shirt, a floral print button down, is tucked in, and her waist is clad with a native american looking belt. Her feet are shod in Birkenstock sandals and white socks. She was maybe five foot four, pear shaped, a few pounds of extra love on the backside and lower abdomen, but not overweight for her frame.

After declaring you 'good' she turns back to Allison with a smile and wink, "So'd he also inherit the big cock?" Allison was taken aback, and stood mouth agape at the brazon comment from more or less a stranger old enough to be her mother. You find it hilarious, to say the least.

Snickering, you say ,"Well, don't keep the lady waiting, honey. It's not polite to stand mouth open when you've been asked a question."

Recovering, she closes her mouth and shoots you a small glare. "Yeah, a big one to match his big mouth."

"Connor would've enjoyed that reaction. Then he would've charmed the pants off ya. Figuratively, least since we got hitched. Oh, yeah, he'd've enjoyed charming a pretty thing like you to no end." Looking back at you, "My god! You look just like him at your age, save the darker hair. And just like your older brother, Hank. He's maybe ten years older than you, number four by age — you'll be holding the number seven slot for the time being in that order — got a pretty young thing pregnant a few months ago. He's a little too much of a chip off the ol' block in that regard. This one's barely 19. His sixth that he knows of."

"Jesus, haven't any of these people heard of condoms!? And I thought I was robbing the cradle"

"Phft. Na. Allison's practically a granny compared to the gals Hank keeps diggin' up. What're ya, maybe eighteen, twenty years apart?"

"Twenty. 51 and soon to be 31," Allison confirms.

"That's a good spread in my book. It takes some men a little longer t'season than others." She gives Allison a wink and turns back to you. "Either of ya got kids?"

"Her no, me none that I know of. Since finding out about Connor, it's made me wonder. I'm generally good about covering it up, unlike some others, but still…" you shrug your shoulders.

She motions with her head toward the house and starts to turn and walk back. The both of you follow, exchanging surprised grins and open eyed looks about the old hippy in front of you. Bertie asks, "You guys hungry? I have a seven-bean soup made with a big ass hambone I froze after Easter. It's been a slow cookin' since late last night. And, if you're so inclined, I've got some weed we could smoke as an appetizer. That is if the two a ya are inta that kinda thing. I figure it's in the genes, 'cause all Connor's youngins seem t'have inherited the taste fer gonga."

 _God, that sounds amazing!_ You really would love to get high with this lady, eat her food and hear a bunch of cool stories about the father you'll never meet. You look at Allison and give her the little boy pouty face, and mouth 'please mommy.' She rolls her eyes and gives in with a nod.

If you could jump, you would. But since you can't you just smile and answer Bertie. "That sounds awesome."

* * *

Wow.

Oh… wow. You are really stoned.

The voice in your head starts sounding a whole lot like Cheech. Or wait, do I sound like Cheech, since I'm the voice? Yeah, you are seriously stoned. 

Like so fucking high, man… and these fucking cookies… and that fucking bean soup…

 _And that dog, with the fucking breadstick in it's mouth like a cigar! So fucking cute._ Damn, you must be high when your first person voice thinks that way, but then again, it is pretty adorable that the dog likes to get high too, and is totally munching out on those left over breadsticks and pizza crusts Bertie gave her.

"So, Tatum is for Art Tatum?" you ask Bertie.

"Yes! When our friends gave us the pooch, Art Tatum was playing on the radio. We wanted t'see if she was going to be a good fit fer the farm, so we let 'er in the house, put on some jazz and got 'er high. She loved weed. Seemed t'dig the music and didn't kill the cat, so we decided she was a keeper and thought Tatum sounded like a good name fer a jazz pup. I call'er Tater Tot sometimes too." The dog wags it's tail happily after hearing her name. Bertie reaches beside her chair to scratch Tatum behind the ear. "So, you know Art Tatum?" She seems genuinely surprised.

"God yes," you perk up a bit, and sit up from your slouched position at the old kitchen table. "He was a fucking piano god! A genius. Years ahead of his time with his melodic and harmonic approach to improvisation."

"He was Connor's favorite. Damn it's a real shame he passed before you found out about him! He loved it when a new baby knows about jazz. Do ya play anything?"

"I mess around some on piano and guitar. Nothing like him though. I saw some videos online. Connor was amazing. Playing like that is my wet dream."

"He's being modest," Allison pipes in. She'd been stoned silent for the longest time. You've never been high with her. It's rather endearing to watch her stare at the wallpaper and eat her food like she's on a mission.

"It speaks!" You joke.

She rolls her eyes and continues, "Seriously, he's very good. If he would have given the time to music he's given to medicine, he would be just as good. Because he's very good only giving it an hour here and there. Both instruments. And he can play bass and drums a little, too. I'm convinced that if you gave him an instrument and a few days alone in a room with it, he could learn it."

Allison had never expressed her admiration of your musical skills so directly before. You suddenly feel a pride for your musical abilities that you haven't in many years.

"Well, then. I have something you'll really enjoy then. Let's take a little trip to Connor's room. You can't meet him, but you can play his guitar, and that's a damn close second. He had it for years. Lived through it. It was as much a part of him as his arms or legs or even his golden prick." Her voice lightened as she joked about the man's infamous appendage.

"I get the feeling that talk of the man's penis was common place," you say, really to either of them as you all stand and follow Bertie from the kitchen.

"Oh, god yeah. You'd think he was a porn star and not a musician the way folks wanted t'just _see_ it. And Connor was all too happy to whip 'er out and show it off. He enjoyed confirmin' that part of his legend." She took you through a quaint living room, with well worn furniture. There was no TV, only an old school stereo with a record player, tape deck and a portable CD player wired in as an afterthought.

"And you were okay with that?" you ask in disbelief.

She stops at the foot of a staircase that was tucked behind the wall to your left on the far side of the living room and looks at you thoughtfully.

"I knew who I married and I loved him for his charm as much as anything else. He was tired of tom-cattin' around or he wouldn't have asked me to settle down with him. Did I wonder sometimes if he cheated while he was on a road gig? Sure."

She smirked as she thought of something funny. "I put a little stuffed pink pussycat in his guitar case and told him 'when you're thinking of getting a little pussy on the side, just pet the little pink pussy in your case instead and remember who it belongs to.' Beyond that, I trusted that if he bothered t'tell me he was faithful, that he was. And I've yet t'have a youngin' show up to the farm of an age t'prove otherwise. But if it happens, I can live with it, because I know he loved me and I knew who I married."

She turns to lead you up the stairs. You mull over her words and think that he was lucky to find a woman who loved him, as your mother would say 'warts and all.' Allison might be the one woman in the world who loves you for who you are. Who doesn't need you to change. She wants for you to stay clean, sure. She'd like you to figure out how to be happy. She understands you want those things for yourself. You understand that with her, they aren't requirements or mandates. Just something you both hope for.

At the top of the stairs, you can see a hallway with two doors. She takes you past the first and opens the second. "This was Connor's music room. He'd listen t'records here and play. He wrote a few tunes, but he could hardly read 'r write music notation, so most his sketches are impossible for anyone but him to read and actually have the tune he meant to come out the instrument. I helped him iron out a few of them. I played viola in school, so I can read music pretty well and could help him transcribe things. Most of that's in this." She puts her hand over a folder stuffed with an inch's worth of manuscript.

"He also could draw pretty well. This drawer is full of his sketchbooks, and there are loose drawings all 'round, too. He doodled in the margins of just about every book in the house." She pulled out the drawer to show you where then closed it and walked to a guitar case propped against an old wooden chair in the corner. It looked like the others around her kitchen table.

"And this, this was Connor's real baby." She picked up the case. It was dark brown and well worn from years of use and travel. There were a few stickers here and there from various ports of call. She placed it on the chair, opened each latch and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful blond Gibson electric hollow body. She lifts it out carefully, smiling at it as if she were lifting a baby from a crib, then handed it to you. "I'm guessing you like what you see."

"She's beautiful," you say in awe of the classic guitar. Feeling as if for once in your life, you might be innately connected to something. Allison puts her hand on your shoulder. Glancing over you see she is tearing up a little because of your reaction.

"Do _not_ cry on the Gibson," you tell her. She smiles in response and wipes the mist from her eyes with swift fingers.

"Sorry. I'm just a little high still and…" she couldn't quite put it into words. Neither could you for that matter.

"Well the thing isn't going to play just because you're flirtin' with it. Sit down, plug 'er in and do some pickin' an' grinnin'." Bertie put the case down beside the chair so you could sit, and handed you the cord from the nearby Marshall amp. You plugged in and leaned down to scrounge around in the case for a pick. In the storage box under the neck you found not only picks, but the little stuffed pink pussy-cat. You picked it up and wiggled it at the women. Getting some chuckles, then put it back and took out a pick.

Now the big question was, what to play on this sacred instrument. An instrument that had been spoiled at the hands of a master. Strumming a D major chord, you quickly realize that the first thing you'll be doing is tuning it. "I'm guessing this hasn't been played in a while by the sound of it."

"Nope. Connor was the last to play it. Only one other kid plays git-fiddle and he's not been around since Connor passed. A few of your brothers and sisters play piano. Got one bass player and a drummer. None of them play professionally, but all of them are pretty good fer just messin' around."

You spend a couple of minutes tuning up then try the D major once more. "That's so much better. Now, let's see what this baby can do."

You spent about twenty minutes playing random melodies that came to mind. Flowing seamlessly from one tune to the next, even played some the Conner solo you'd transcribed. Allison snapped some pictures on her phone and you suspect a little video as well. You'll have to show them to Wilson later. You got the feeling he was sad you hadn't invited him to come along. It's something you would have done a year ago, but you aren't sure just how that's supposed to work now that you have Allison and he has Sam.

"She's right. You're better than you let on," Bertie tells you as you put away the guitar.

"I'm okay. I'm much better at piano, I think. I am certainly better at rock 'n' roll and the blues than I am jazz on either. I can read music, but I'm not a great sight-reader. I had classical piano lessons as a teenager. So given some time I can figure most things out. If I've listened to it a lot before hand I can figure it out really fast. I'm a much better ear player." It's a fair evaluation you think, and she smiles.

"God, I _am_ sorry you didn't get here when Connor was still alive. He'd've enjoyed playing with you. Of course, you'd had to of skipped the rock, he wasn't terribly impressed with much of it. But you have a good feel. A natural swing. He liked that about people more than any amount of fast note vomiting. He always said given enough time anyone can learn to play well technically, but you can't teach a man how to feel the music. He has to be born with that."

The three of you looked at his sketches, next snapped some pictures of your favorites with your phone and milled around his music room going through his books and his extensive record collection. Bertie called out to you "Hey, look here, he's still got a few extra copies of some of his records. Huh, I didn't think we still had extras left. You still spin records?"

"God, yeah. I'd never give up my records."

"Well, then here. We've got some extra of his live San Francisco recording, still unopened even." She hands it to you. "And _Grooving at Maxwell's_ " She hands that to you next. "And _Strummin' In The Afternoon_ " Handing you the last one, she stands and dusts off her hands as you and Allison take turns looking at the LP covers.

"Thanks," you mutter, caught up in the moment.

"Sure thing."

* * *

So far your trip is going right according to plan. After spending the afternoon and evening with your new found step-mother, a night at Indianapolis's famous Jazz Kitchen, meeting and greeting a handful of musicians that knew and worked with your father and even sitting in during a late night jam session, you retire to a nearby Residence Inn.

You're on a natural high and still a bit of an artificial one. Allison told you to enjoy the day and remember it was an occasion. You did something you never have been good at and compromised. No booze. Just some, as your new pal Brett called it, smokey treat. And you promised to be good tomorrow.

Your plan since the night you crashed and burned (and you made the plan because you know it has to be _your_ plan or it's not going to work) is to give Allison complete control over if and when you drink or use any drugs recreationally.

She was hesitant to agree, but gave in when you explained to her that if _you_ decided the rules _you_ could live with them. You know she won't try to force you be a fucking saint, but she will surely decide on far fewer occasions that getting a little buzzed is a good idea. And you were right about her. She knew this was a big moment and she was all too happy to let you have fun with it. She is rather enjoying the opportunity to smoke weed herself.

It went without saying that the day and the marijuana has make you feel rather… frisky. You hadn't had sex on it in years. Weed sex is really, really good. On the drive to the hotel, Allison told you she had not had sex high (well this kind of high, because you both know that being weed high and meth high are two very different things) since Brian. Apparently, because of the cancer, they smoked a lot and, before he was too physically worn, they fucked high a lot.

She had told you on several occasions about getting high here and there before she had met Brian. It only served to make you want to see a high Allison. Gabe was a stoner in his teens and twenties and she had a few stoner friends in both high school and college, but she had given it up after Brian. Became far more serious and career minded. She was determined to do the right thing because Brian had been so proud of her becoming a doctor.

She never talked much about him as a former lover or just as a man. Stories of him were always dominated by the cancer and the short lived marriage. Something about her opening up made you need her even more. Emotionally, physically, mentally — you needed to have her. Taste her. Touch her. Be inside of her.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, you motion for her to stand in front of you. She takes position and pulls her t-shirt over her head, tossing it aside. It is quickly followed by her bra and your mouth latches onto her left nipple before the fabric even hits the ground. The act elicits a low moan of approval. Your whole body is tingling — overly sensitive. Hers will be the same.

"Take off your shirt, Greg. I need to feel your skin on mine," she orders between pants of pleasure. It's an excellent idea. Your whole body is craving contact with hers. A few seconds later your t-shirt joins hers and your arms encircle her, pulling her close. Your mouth finds her other breast to give it equal attention as you enjoy her warm quivering body pressed against yours.

The smell of her arousal begins to overtake your senses, even through her jeans. God, bless. She must be so fucking wet right now. You need that on your face. Leaving her breast, your tongue leaves a wet and sloppy trail down her body, tasting every inch of flesh in path to its first goal — her extremely sensitive navel.

You unfasten her pants and push them down just enough to allow room to lick and tease the flesh all around her perfect little belly button. The hot flesh there shivers under your ministrations. Your mouth licking and blowing and sucking all around that little divot in the middle of her sexy abdomen. "Oh, god —- Greg… please!"

It's a source of pride every time she begs for you. And the way she begs — it makes you feel alive. It makes you feel wanted. It makes you feel loved. "As you wish," you tell her, quoting one of her favorite movies and dip your tongue pointedly into her navel, flick it quickly causing her to shudder. She starts to go weak in the knees. You hold her up as you drive her over the edge, all the time wondering how the hell you lucked out to have this beautiful woman being extremely responsive on top of everything else.

"God, I love how you come for me. How turned on you get for me. It's like a drug. One hit, just makes me want the next one. Makes me want to see just how many times I can make you scream for me. Pant my name. Come undone on me, or under me, or in front of me. And you know I'm not one to leave a mystery unsolved."

She cradles your head and kisses the crown. "It's one of the reasons why I love you. That and your smell. I fucking love the way you smell." Her nose nuzzles in your hair and she inhales deeply.

You can relate. Her smell is driving you crazy with want right now. You push at the waistband of her jeans. "Take off the rest of your clothes. Then, come sit on my face. I need to taste you."

Helping things along, you tug down her jeans to her knees and she takes care of the rest. Kicking them off and standing before you naked. You slip your own jeans down and off, before flopping backward on the bed and waiting for her to crawl over you and plant her pussy on your mouth.

She surprises you, when she sits on you backward and a moment later buries your cock in her throat. Your body arches as a warm electricity radiates out from your dick to the rest of your body. "Fuck baby, yeah," you approve and refocus yourself on her wet folds. Her smell is still driving you nuts. With a slow long lick you begin. Fuck — it's too good. The taste of her. Her smell. The way she grinds against your face. The way her ass rises like a cat's when you coat your fingers in her juices and circle them over her anus.

She returns the favor, spitting in her own hand and preparing your rear entrance. Timing it, you both slide a finger in, careful to match speed. Fucking each other in unison with mouths and fingers. It's spectacular — the way the high from the weed makes the sensations overwhelm everything else. The way you can perceive every suck, every stroke, with your whole body.

As incredible as it feels, you need to be inside of her pussy. With a final nibble you tell her, "Baby, time to turn around and sit on my cock," you give her one more long lick for good measure followed by a quick smack on her ass cheek. She drops your cock from her mouth with a plop and rubs your prostate a few more times before turning and claiming your mouth with hers. Her well-lubed pussy lips begin sliding against your shaft as she rubs her whole body against yours.

After some decadent sliding around, your dick finds the mark and you slide inside her. Your kiss pauses, mouths open for a moment as you both inhale. Entering her will never get old.

She seems to agree. "I love your penis."

"Thanks. I love your vagina," you smirk back with a wink. "Glad we cleared that up."

"Me too," she says as she begins to move her hips.

You wrap your legs around hers, squeezing them shut. She wiggles against you, her tight pussy even tighter with closed legs. Her inner thighs adding extra friction as she undulates her hips. Her damp body is pressed fully against yours as you hug her tightly while she makes slow love to you.

You come first in a long wave of heated pulses, your cock tightly wrapped inside her. She keeps moving, seeking her own release causing your body to convulse with sensation, just when it might overwhelm your overly sensitive flesh, she moans and the combined fluids drip down your balls as her inner walls contract around you.

A few seconds later your dick slips out. Neither of you can move. You've been rendered into a pile of post-cotial goo.


	17. A Trip of Discovery

A/N: Thanks to like-waves-on-the-beach for stepping up to solo proof this one. Atavares, while still getting a sneak peak, had better things to do. :P She was picked to do a cool coding competition and was off being awesome. Congrats! I'm proud of you. :*

And, thanks to all of the readers for sticking with me. I know I've been forever between chapters. RL is pretty exciting these days and leaving me less time for my hobbies, but I'm still carving time when I can to love me some House and Cameron. Drop me a line sometime and let me know what you think about this installment.

To my friends in the UK, it didn't occur to me right away that I named Cam's dad after your former PM. Totally didn't mean to do that. Oops. For all the OUAT fans out there, you've prob noticed my hat tips to that show here and there. Cam's parents' names, David and Mary, are just another of those. I like to believe these are all just alt universes anyway, and in this one the savior is here to save House.

 **Chapter 17: A Trip of Discovery**

The breakfast buffet. Nothing quite like it. Hooking your cane over your arm you pick up a large, warmed plate and begin constructing a tower of food. A base of pancakes, some bacon next, then potato hash, followed by scrambled eggs. You drown it in syrup and head to your table, where Allison is already sitting eating some cereal and toast.

She looks up as you approach, noting your less pronounced limp. "I think the duloxetine is working for you. You don't seem to be in as much pain, on top of being sane — for you."

"Seems to be," you agree as you set your plate down and take a seat, rubbing your leg a little out of habit. "I don't feel as dulled mentally and it's a nice bonus that duloxetine doubles as a pain med. I think the last dosage adjustment helped. Pain levels have been much more manageable and I'm not eating ibuprofen like candy everyday. Flare ups seem to be less frequent, but it's too soon to really know if that is really related. Nolan said he's planning on moving more of his patients away from MAOIs, because the most recent data." You take a big bite and continue, mouth full, "It was a good suggestion."

"Perks of dating a doctor," she teases with a smile

You swallow, give her a wink, then proclaim loudly, "That and you know your way around a prostate."

A few of the patrons send you a disgusted look. Allison is a little embarrassed and you are pleased you can still do that to her from time to time. " Jeez, Greg, say that a little louder. I don't think everyone eating their breakfast heard you."

You smirk, but turn serious as you think about yesterday. "Thanks for yesterday, by the way. I promise, I'm not going to go over the deep end. I have to admit I've wanted to do that with you for a very long time. Stoned Allison is extremely forthcoming with information."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't have to be high for that. What else do you want to know?" she asks as she takes a bite of cereal.

"Everything. I thought you knew that about me by now." You take another large bite of your tower.

"This is a trip of discovery. Ask a question," she insists.

You think about what you'd like to know for a moment. "Okay. What made you fall in love with Brian? Beyond your need to be needed, of course."

Titling her head to the side, she considers your question briefly, not falling prey to your dig about her neediness. "He was really brilliant. Before the cancer, he was a dual physics and engineering major, a year ahead in his studies. He was impulsive. He knew he was dying and he decided not to let that define him. So he did the thing everyone says you should do. He lived every day like he was going to die the next.

"The first time we had sex was a hookup, yet he did it like a man who might never get to have sex again. It was fun, but there was also a seriousness about it. He was memorising everything. Here was this cute guy that I just wanted to blow off some steam with and he's making love to me like I'm this… prize. He wasn't afraid to let himself love me, even though he didn't know me, didn't know if I'd even be in the same bed as him in the morning.

"He was sexy and confident and had nothing to lose. I got swept up in his wake. He made me see that being open to love completely is also being open to hurt completely. One can't exist without the other. You can't love something and not risk getting hurt if you lose it. If it doesn't hurt you to lose it, you didn't love it in the first place.

"He was a smartass and had a great dry sense of humor. Very morbid cancer jokes the last month or so. You'd have loved it." You smirk and nod in agreement. As you take another bite, she continues.

"He focused me. I was questioning myself a lot back then, thinking about changing majors. I had the grades but I wasn't sure I could take the heat of the job. He always told me I could. Living through his sickness and death made me see some of the best and the worst of the medical profession. I thought surviving that meant I could survive anything. Now, I know the equation is more complicated, but at the time, it was what I needed… Jesus, that came out sounding awful. Like I wanted him to die. I didn't. I loved him. I still love him, really."

It surprises you that you feel a twinge of pain at her declaration. Not one of jealously, but rather you wish, a little, that she could have had this fairy-tale romance and not the tragic version that ended in death and frozen sperm. Things are feeling a little too serious, so you try to lighten the mood in your way. "As is evidenced in your keeping of his baby-makers."

She looks dejected at your mentioning of it. "Is that going to be a thing with you too?"

"Not really. Everyone has their fetishes. We can freeze some of mine too, if it makes you happy. I kind of like the idea that I can still knock you up from beyond the grave. Maybe you'd like to mix them up and have a little sperm race. See which of our swimmers is Michael Phelps material. That could be so cool, well, for you anyway. I mean, we'd be dead, but you'd get a fun surprise out of it, and I bet you could break a record with the hospital betting pool with that one!"

You are quite proud of yourself, because that's a really good one and there's always the chance… Smiling gleefully, you ask, "Ooooo, do you have a family history of fraternal twins?"

It's apparent she is glad you seem fine with her frozen hubby-juice, but doesn't succumb to your teasing. Instead she continues seriously. "I think Chase was sure I wanted to use it. Maybe even paranoid that I'd demand he raise my first husband's child with his and ask him to be a father to another man's child."

You had never really thought about that. "Do you… want to use it? For someone that didn't have plans on it as anything but a back-up, you were steaming hot over it when you came to me to vent about Chase's reaction."

"I dunno, I hadn't thought about it in years, then one day I just had to tell Chase. I think it was me starting to subconsciously look for ways of making our not working out Chase's fault. After I thought about it, I realized there was some part of me still very attached to Brian. It's all I have left of him and so long as I have it, it seems like he's not really gone forever."

As a person who hates change and throwing out old things, you can relate. "Atheist's version of comforting yourself with thoughts of your loved one's afterlife?"

She laughs lightly at that. "I guess. It was a really weird situation when we decided that was the best way to handle the kid thing. Like we'd decided to have baby making sex without the fun unsafe sex part. He didn't want me to put my life on hold just to make him a father to child he'd never get to meet anyway, but I think it gave him hope he wasn't going to blink into nothing."

You nod in understanding. "Did you at least help the poor guy retrieve the samples?"

"Do you really want to know those details?" she whines, trying to refocus on her breakfast.

"Um, you do know me, right?"

Rolling her eyes she gives in, as she always does, knowing it's not worth the effort to withhold information you are determined to get. "I went in with him, sat across from him naked and mastubated while he filled a cup. We did it a few times."

That's so fucking… "We should start collecting weekly samples when we get back to work."

"You really are the worst." She sighs and stabs at her cereal with her spoon.

Can't argue with that but, "What does that say about you?"

She looks down and considers that for a moment then looks you in the eye. "I'm a sucker for a big dick? Chose whichever definition of dick you'd like. Both seem appropriate."

Over the next two days you meet three siblings. Number one being your infamous brother Hank Redman. He brought his child baby-mamma with him. You couldn't deny she was hot, but damn she was dumb as a rock. Allison must have kicked you twenty times if once under the table to prevent your open mouth from offering your unabridged opinion.

And Hank obviously only inherited the brain in his dick from your bio dad. The one in his head was hardly worth the title. You found him to be simple-minded and poorly educated. It was a shame, because he looked so much like you, you'd hoped he had half a brain so you could invite him by the hospital and wreak a little havoc with your team and the nurses, but this guy wasn't worth the time and you sure as hell don't want to invite him to visit you.

Number two is your sister, Anna Jameson. Yes, like the whiskey and, like the whiskey, she is smooth and of Irish descent. 40, amazing freckles, red hair and emerald green eyes make her practically a cliché. She's built similarly to Allison, though just a little taller. She's smart as a whip. You're convinced she's a professional con artist, though she claims to be a simple bartender. All the signs are there to see for anyone who pays attention. She is totally getting an invite to the wedding.

Number three's another brother. Just a year younger than you. He's the bass player. Tall, like you, but a stockier build. It's less likely anyone would assume he's your brother. He must have inherited his looks from his mother's side, or had traits that had skipped over Conner. He does have similar hands and your eyes. His hair is darker, nearly black with far less grey than yours, straight and cut into a sort of grown-up bowl cut. He's an intelligent guy, and his personality's completely laid back. He has no agenda, seems to take life as it comes and doesn't appear to have your obsessive streak. While not a total loser, you're sure that you'd bore of him in a few weeks, if you had to be around him all the time. Kind of like most of your mother's family. All fine enough people for the span of a dinner once a year, but more than that and you'd rather stick a fork in your eye.

Now, you are back on the road, driving northwest toward Chicago. As far as Allison knows you're stopping about midway to meet another sister. Really, what you're doing is meeting her parents. Allison and Daddy Dearest have no clue they're being suckered into a meeting. You just hope you can have a little fun in the process and also pull off a prank. It was a stretch, but if you can pull it off, the look on Allison's face will be worth it.

It was a quiet ride for the first hour or so. Allison was on her phone, catching up on emails and texts. You didn't mind the quiet. Driving was always a good time to think about random things. In this case time to let your mind rehearse. When she is finally done, she tosses the phone in the center console and brakes the silence. "Well, your brother Hank is a piece of work."

You glance over, tilting your head in agreement. "I was leaning towards piece of shit, but I suppose having me as a brother is worth some sorta upgrade."

"Riiight. Well, I'd say you did far better in the gene pool lottery than him. And that poor kid he's with. If she had a father, I imagine he'd have Hank's balls shot off. His one brain cell must have at least a little bit of smarts to pick one looking for a daddy."

"Wow. That's harsh coming from you. I figured you'd be telling me we should call the cops or something."

"Just because someone is young, doesn't mean they are always the victim in that sort of situation. I learned that working for you. Remember our boy-girl, Alex? I get the feeling they are both being equally used, so in some screwed up way, they kinda deserve each other."

"Good girl. You have been paying attention in class! I'll give you your bonus points after school. Just come by my office later." You glance over with a smile and waggle your eyebrows. She returns the smile as her hand reaches over in your lap and brushes her fingers against your fly.

"Can I sit in your lap again, Mr. House?" she asks coyly.

Damn, you love how she plays with you. "I was thinking on my face, but the lap works too." You wink at her as she retracts her hand a bit, leaving it resting on your thigh.

"So how does it feel to suddenly have all of these siblings?"

"It's… I dunno… no different logically. But then again it's just… weird. I keep imagining what it would have been like to grow up knowing them or living with them. If I'd still be me, or if having a sibling around might have changed how I think somehow. Made me less solitary, less in my head all the time. It bothers me that I have no way of knowing the answer, more than anything."

"Figure out a way to step into a parallel but alternate universe," she offered with a shrug of her shoulders "You're a genius. Quit medicine and devote your mad science skills to dimension hopping."

"With my luck I'd end up in a universe where I'm completely alone." You say pessimistically. Because you've always felt that somehow you drew more shit sticks from the universe than most.

"I dunno, I feel like Wilson would be a constant."

"Except I'm too much of a bastard to be that lucky. Then again, maybe you're the constant."

"That would imply you think we are soulmates."

"It would be unscientific to rule out the concept of constants completely. But it's a little girly to refer to the possibility of you and I being a constant as 'soulmates'. Neither of us is even sure we have a soul."

"Just because I don't believe in god as a religious construct, doesn't mean I don't think we have a soul. There's something that makes us more than the sum of our parts."

"I think that you and I need to have a little biology lesson. We are no more than complex machines. Crosswire us and we either fail as completely as any other machine or we create a superior adaptation that gives us a leg up on our competition and hopefully attracts a similarly gifted mate for us to perpetuate the superior adaptation. Biology. Pure. Simple. Elegant. And in our case, a catalyst for amazing sex. Brains and pheromones do not equate to immortal soul."

"Who said immortal?" she scoffs. "I simply think that you can't rule out that there is something… some spark of life… that sets us apart from a tree or a laptop."

You offer a small concession. "We're sentient."

"God, I really want to watch that TNG episode, Measure of a Man with you now!"

"I'm sure you were totally on the side of Data."

"And you weren't?"

"Meh…" you shrug "I'm not exactly against the idea of human research, much less android research. I mean, com'on you have to admit that taking apart Data would be cool as hell."

"Fucking him maybe. Taking him apart, not so much."

"You had the hots for Data?"

"Hell yeah! Firstly, he was made in the image of his creator, who was a man and who chose to give him working sex organs. So you know Soong enhanced them. I bet Data's penis could do tricks if you wanted it to. And Data is like you when it comes to a puzzle. He'd be completely fascinated and diligent in his quest to fully understand the female orgasm. I never understood why the women on that ship weren't lined up to help him do some research."

You man-giggle at the implication. "So you like Data because he's a man-shaped, sentient, dildo."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that, but… I wouldn't pass up the chance to see just how 'fully functional' he really was. I mean, if he was terrible at sex, you could always write a better program for him. You'd never have to worry about hurting his feelings with constructive criticism. Seems like his being single was a complete waste and a sign that women of the future are really a bunch of prudes."

"You've given this way too much thought." You laugh.

"I'm sure no more thought than you've given Counselor Troi's breasts."

"Got me there. Goddamn, I used to have wet dreams about titty fucking them. Maybe some experimentation with adult nursing. But all that feeling would drive me up the wall. Now, her mom, on the other hand, would have been a great fucking time. My kind of gal. I would have totally been okay being her cub for a few years. I'm sure she could have show me a thing or two about sex. And I think she'd be one of the only people in the universe who would like me because I say everything that pops into my mind."

She snickers, covering her mouth for a moment to stifle a snort. "Oh my god! I can totally see that. I always wished I could be more like her and just not give a shit, but still manage to be a caring person. Maybe when I get old. Old people seem to have a get out of jail free card when it comes to just saying whatever the hell that comes into their heads."

Giving her a playful back hand to the arm, you pretend to be offended. "Are you calling me old?"

"No." You can't quite see, but you are sure she raises an eyebrow. "Although, if the shoe fits…"

"See, I bring out the best in you. You are way better at being an asshole when I'm involved."

"You are the master."

"I think it's all the years of mastubating."

In two miles take exit 172, on your right for Indiana 26 toward Lafayette/Rossville. The GPS interjects, effectively changing the subject.

"So we're meeting another new sibling to the fold? Number fourteen?" she asks.

"That's what they tell me."

You've only given her a small bit of information. You got Berty to play along and set up the con. Telling you in front of Allison that you had a sister upstate a few hours that had also just found out about Connor and then pretend to punch a number into your phone and suggested you call. Then you called Mary Cameron and pretended to set up a meeting. It was far too easy.

You take your exit and continue to follow the directions from the GPS, but you are leary of it of late. "Help me keep an eye out for this place. I don't trust the damned phone after it took us to that Jesus place instead of the Costco."

"It was right next door. You just turned early."

Huffing, you defend, "She said turn left! I turned left! That's what I get for taking directions from a female GPS."

The little off-highway diner is easy enough found and you head inside and find a booth on the opposite as the restrooms and sit with your back to the wall so you can see the whole of the diner. Just as you knew she would, Allison excused herself to the bathroom. You could set a clock by that woman's bowls, so you figure you have about five minutes for the set-up. If everything was going according to plan, a simple text to Mary and she'd sit across from you back to the restrooms and you both could get the giggles out before putting on a show for Allison.

Like clockwork, your text is quickly followed with Mary Cameron walking through the front door and turning left to head straight for you. In a modern age, a hook up with a stranger was so much easier. It was practically as easy as it looks in James Bond films.

"Greg House," she greets, as she takes a seat across from you.

"Mary Cameron," you smile, but don't offer a hand. God, she was still a good-looking woman. Her short pixie cut silver hair, shining from the sunlight from the window. Her skin was only lightly creased with laugh lines and crow's feet. She, like Allison, wore only light makeup. You could see so much of Allison in her face, her eyes especially. Her body was rounder, more curves on a slightly smaller frame. You already knew from the pictures you've seen that Allison got her father's mother's build. But her nose, chin, eyes, smile all were her mother's.

"You ready for this?" you ask as she fights the urge to turn and look behind her.

"I guess we'll find out. Do you think there is a snowball's chance in hell she'll buy it?"

"I wouldn't bother with a con I didn't think I could sell. But, Allison is far less gullible after many years of dealing with me. The lynch-pin is will she believe that you've kept this secret from her until now?"

"Well, every family has it's skeletons. And she knows I'm the type not to pull them out unless it's absolutely necessary."

"And you're the type to let us just enjoy our doomed relationship for a few more days to tell us in person?"

"Yeah. Actually. If this were real, I'd probably do it this way. Or at least try to do it in person. She really loves you, you know. So I wouldn't be happy about delivering news to destroy her finally having her shot at a happy ending."

You see Allison exit the bathroom and you let your face fall and exhale sharply, "Well, put on your sad face we are about to find out."


	18. Didn't See That One Coming

**Chapter 18: Didn't See That One Coming**

One gift you'd had most your life is the ability to fake crying. It wasn't something you generally felt the need to do, because you don't want people to think you are soft. But because of that, when you do decide to turn on the waterworks, the effect is all the more convincing.

Allison is only a few feet from the table now and you are sure she can hear you. "No… That… This just can't be happening. I think we need to get a DNA test. This is NOT happening." Your protesting modulates from sad to angry.

"Greg?" Allison asks as she approaches, still not looking closely at the woman across from you. You look up and put on your best face of desperation and wipe your eyes with the palms of your hand. She tilts her head in confusion. "Greg, what's wrong?" She asks and finally glances over to your companion.

Oh hell yeah. That shocked look is priceless, but your practiced resolve keeps you in character. "Mom?" She looks from Mary to you then back to Mary. "Mom, what the hell are you doing here and why is Greg so upset? Where is Dad?" She demands, looking all around the dinner, but not seeing her father anywhere.

"Your father isn't with me. I left him back at the hotel. I… um… I really wanted to talk to Greg first, and you. It's just a screwed up situation and I'm… honey, I'm so sorry. I had no idea until a week ago and then I just didn't know how to tell you…"

Interrupting her mother, who was doing a fantastic job, Allison demands "Tell me what? What on earth is going on?" Turning back to you she demands an explanation "Greg, tell me what the hell is going on here!"

"Allison, baby, sit down. You're going to want to be sitting," you tell her and she glances again at Mary who simply nods to confirm. Allison sits beside you as you scoot over to make room. You take her hand then look down at your intertwined fingers with a feigned confusion, then back to her eyes.

"Allison, your mom, is the sister we came here to meet. She gave Berty a pseudonym because she knew from your phone calls about Connor and well, when she found out she… um well… "

"Honey, I was in shock at first. I didn't think that there was any possible way our universes could collide like that, but you remember that letter that your Gran left me? The one I never had the heart to open and read?" Allison nodded. "It seems that Gran, kinda got herself in a… situation. And well, your grandfather Al, wasn't… I mean I guess he was sort of her knight in shining armor, but he… Greg and I share having a mother who, well…" she faltered beautifully, looking away and maybe… yes! That is a tear in her eye! You really couldn't have landed a cooler mother-in-law.

"What your mother is trying to say is that her father isn't her father. Conner is her father. She and I are half brother and sister. I'm your uncle."

It takes a few seconds but her face starts to turn from confused and mildly angry to shocked. She looks down at your intertwined fingers and pulls her hand. You hold her for a second but then let her go. She's staring through you now — her mind processing. You aren't sure how she will react but you have a few plans, depending.

Legally, you aren't related. Well, you aren't related at all, but that's not the point here, is it? If it were true, with no other inbreeding, the odds of a genetic mishap are rather low. So, her logical mind could just decide to ignore it and go on. Of course, you'll protest that being the creepy uncle isn't something you want to do.

She might get grossed out. In which case you'll take the other side and give her all the reasons you should just ignore it and go on with your lives not telling anyone else.

No matter what, you'll play the opposing view and let Mary just riff on it however she likes. You wait for Allison to process, doing your best to stay patient.

"I'm pregnant." Allison announces then slowly her eyes focus again on yours.

What the… A feeling boils up in your gut. _That's fucking amazing news!_ But now what? The con is too good to blow. You want to take her in your arms and kiss the hell out of her. At the same time, all this work is for nothing if you do. So it's your turn to go mute, while your brain and your heart have a little fight on how to proceed.

 _But there's no way she's…_ you know her schedule like clockwork. She definitely had her last period. "But you had your last period," you say, finally. Logic winning out and taking a neutral course of action.

"It wasn't much of one. So I wondered if maybe there was a reason. I took a test. This morning, actually, I wanted to tell you at breakfast, but with all the talk about Brian it seemed like a bad time and now… well… I guess now… I shouldn't have even told you. I just blurted it out." She pauses, looking around again, and avoids your gaze. "I guess this means I'll have to abort."

Oh, fuck no. It's not worth letting her believe that. "The hell you will. Allison, I want our baby. The..."

She interrupts you before you can confess it's all a joke. "It's a fetus, remember? I know what you are going to say. The odds of some sort of genetic mishap are low, but you can't really think we can pretend we don't know. Our child will figure it out, because it'll be ours, and then they'll have to live with the fact they are inbred and it's just not fair to them."

Mary, looks like she might tear up for real with the idea of her baby having a baby. To be fair, you might have a genuine tear at the idea, too. She attempts to interject, "Al, Allison honey, this is all just a…"

"We should get married." You blurt out. Forgetting for a moment about your lie and the fun of pulling off the con. "Sooner that is, rather than later. Your parents are here already. We can call Gabe and Wilson and do it in Chicago."

He face turns from panicked, to angry in less than a second.

"God, I knew it!" She exclaims, smacking her open hand on the table. "I admit, for just a second, I was about to take the bait, but then I just _knew_ there was no way! But I'll give you a big bonus for getting Mom on board. She just about had me sold. Because of that damned letter." Allison announces and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"You're not pregnant," you state deadpan, accepting she has out conned you and, though you want to be proud of her, it hurts a little more than you are comfortable with to lose the chance at fatherhood, again.

 _Who are you?_ You question yourself.

"No, I'm not." She shakes her head, her lips forming a wry smirk. "It's not so much fun when the prank's on you, when it's about your hopes and dreams, is it?" She asks looking at you and then Mary.

The older Cameron sighs, "We were just trying to have a bit of fun, Allison. Greg and I figured you'd get weird if your father and I just showed up without a way to sorta break the ice."

"Oh! So I was going to be less upset that I was duped into seeing my parents, who by the way are the ones who never want to come see me, because, at least, Greg isn't my uncle? Yeah! I'm suddenly feeling much better about it!" She scoffs, crosses her arms and sits back against the backrest of the booth.

"Sounds about right." You confirm as you do your best to mask your emotions. The problem with being in love is it brings the feelings far too close to the surface. You could push them back down, but then what's the point? It's fucking maddening in its lack of logic.

"Well, that's a pretty stupid plan given both your I.Q.s. So, is Dad really back in your hotel room?" She asks, calming down only a fraction, and most like only to stop getting odd looks from the other patrons.

"Yeah." Mary, sighs.

"And he has no idea I'm here, does he?" Allison follows.

Mary, looks down at her hands. "No. We just thought it was time the two of you got over this thing between you."

Sitting back, Allison crosses her arms across her chest. "I'm glad my father loves me so much that you have to trick him into spending time with me."

* * *

Well that didn't go as you had imagined it at all.

Even in the scenario where she didn't fall for your prank, you hadn't imagined she'd manage to counter so acutely. You decided, after about an hour of silent treatment trapped together in a tiny country hotel room, that sobriety's definitely stupid. You had passed a little shack of a bar on the way to the hotel. You can walk there. Maybe some air and a couple of car bombs would do something to help you sort out the storm of emotion the whole scenario had stirred up in you.

You want to be mad. But in truth, you can't be, because she bested you and did it using your rules to your game. So many years you had wanted Cameron to become the woman Allison is now. This perfect mix of strong and gentle. Observant and intuitive. She knows you better than most. She knows you want things that no one else believes you'd want in a million years. It was a low blow, however it was the one thing she knew would give her the answer she sought.

Everybody lies. The trick is to figure out how to catch them in it. Allison nailed the best way to catch both you and her mother in yours. She knows you finally feel like a family is something you can have. She knows her mother, like most, would love nothing more than a boat load of grandchildren to spoil. She knows you both love her and would never allow her to believe she'd need to abort her child — your child. She had told you, more than once, she didn't ever think she could abort even if it was her life in the balance. She knows that you know she'd be hard pressed to recover if it ever came to that.

Yeah, you taught her well how to ferret out the truth. If you hadn't been lying… your reaction might have been to agree. But the strange thing is, part of you thinks you'd say to hell with it and have reacted exactly the same way. That's how you know you are officially all in. You love her. Nothing else really matters.

And, now she's pissed at you. Really pissed. And that scares the hell out of you. You know if you fuck up this relationship you may not be able to recover. There won't be any more chances like this. Wilson would tell you to have faith that Allison loves you and that no matter what it will all work out, or some silly shit like that. Well, faith is something that _feelers_ have. _Thinkers_ need more assurances. They need facts, plans, evidence, statistics, proof. You need to _know_ she won't leave you. But how can you ever really know that?

As you order up your car bomb, you decide that not being able to know something is exactly why there is booze. The barkeep returns quickly and you toss down a twenty, tell him keep the change, and keep the drinks coming. You probably should call Wilson, except you don't want to be talked out of doing something stupid and self-destructive.

Another car bomb and two straight shots of Jameson later, a man sits beside you and tells the barman, "I'll have what he's having," you see him thumb towards you out of the corner of your eye. Looking over, it doesn't take more than a second, even with a buzz, for you to realize you've been joined by Allison's dad. You aren't sure if he know's who you are, and you aren't sure you want him to know if he doesn't. It might be easier to garner information if you are just another dude on the outs with his woman.

You nod to David Cameron and raise your shot glass, then down it and announce "I think maybe I'll have a Sam Adams." The bartender says "sure thing" as he delivers David's shot. And you turn to David and say "I thought you look like you might want to catch up, so I'll slow down for a bit. But I warn you, I've had two car bombs and two shots of whiskey so, you might want to pick up the pace."

"Woman problems?" He asks. You smirk.

"Is there any other kind?" You answer and he laughs. His smile reminds you of Gabe's.

Shaking his head he answers, "Yeah, but the rest pale in comparison. You have kids?"

You answer "None yet."

"Well, if you ever do, have sons. Because if you think that the kind of woman problems you have now are bad, you have no idea just what kind of trouble you are in for when your little girl becomes a woman." He kicks back his shot and orders another. Then turns in the stool to face you more.

"When my daughter was born, I thought that there wasn't anything that could be more amazing. I have a son too. I love him. He was a fun kid, and he's a really great man. But there was never a moment before, or a moment since I first held my daughter and looked into her eyes for the first time that will ever compare. We'd tried for a long time to have a second kid, so that was part of it, but honestly there was so much more to it. There was just this perfect connection."

This is the kind of talk you've always hated. Three months ago, Allison's dad or not, you'd laugh this mother fucker out of the bar for this kind of dribble. But today you only raise a sceptical brow.

David shrugs at your reaction. "I know it's a cliche, but there is something to it, or it wouldn't be one. There's a connection that happens between a parent and child of the opposite sex. But then they grow up and stop needing you. And then you do stupid things to try to keep them from making decisions that you know will only hurt them, and they hate you for it. On one hand, your logical mind says they have every right to hate you for it. If you raised them right, they should go out and make decisions and live with them good or bad. But your emotional side will butt in and all you'll see is this little girl in pigtails and coke-bottle glasses and you'll put your nose right in their shit. And if you raise them to be headstrong and independent, they'll hate you for it."

He chugged another shot, and raised his hand for one more as you reached the halfway point on your current beer. "So, now that I've scared you away from fatherhood, what'd you do to end up in the dog house with your wife?"

You shrug your shoulders and run your thumb over the engagement ring that everyone thinks is a wedding band and debate how far you should go before you tell him that you are the guy currently living with his 'little girl.' Maybe it's a good thing the alcohol is clouding your judgment. It'll give you something to blame your deception on later.

"Well, it's complicated."

"Always is."

"I told her something that wasn't true. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal. It was just supposed to be a kinda surprise, joke sort of thing. It was for a good cause. I was trying to make her see that she's being stupid and stubborn about something, but she caught me in it and then she lied to me about something, to teach me a lesson, I guess. There was a time that she'd never be able to fool to me, but now she knows all my weak spots and I got burned. Thing is, I have trouble being mad about it, because I helped make her this way. I always wanted her to be more like me… But, it hurt."

"Be careful what you wish for… right?" He says and raises his third shot and you click your bottle's neck to his glass then both of you down the rest of your drinks.

"Want another? I'm buying." David asks you and you nod. "Whiskey or beer or both?

"Fuck it. Both."

"My man." He orders a shot and a Sam Adams for both of you then turns and extends his hand. "David Cameron."

You debate lying, but then figure it'll just make it worse later and for once you'd like to not make it worse. Taking his hand, you shake it firmly. "Yeah. I know. Greg House."

"Ah. Well, now it all makes perfect sense. You and my wife have a whole lotta nerve. But after Mary told me I thought 'maybe it is about time.' I went to your room, but your lovely fiancèe just slammed the door in my face, so here I be with you. Drinking away the aftermath of a relationship I've fucked up completely, and having no idea how the hell I managed to do it so thoroughly." He pauses, starting at the back of the bar, deep in thought. After a moment he shakes his head. "Am I really that big of an asshole?"

"You can't be a bigger one than me and somehow Allison always forgives me. That's the thing that freaks me out. If she can't forgive you for just being an overprotective dad, who sometimes drinks too much, then what the hell might she do when she is tired of me being a dick-headed son-of-a-bitch with a god complex and a narcotics rabbit-hole I might fall back into at any point that my life gets out of control enough."

"It's different when you're in love. I can tell you that. We all are willing to take more shit than we should when we can't face the hole leaving would make in our heart. And I know that she loves you. I mean, that's why I never could support her marrying Robert. It wouldn't have been fair to him or her. Of course I had two things working against me when I told her. Too much of this" he raised his shot glass and downed it, "and being over protective of her to the point of stupidity with Brian, who she did love, and mostly because of my own life going to hell at the time."

* * *

After another drink, you take the party to a booth and get blitzed with your future father-in-law. You would have never imagined it going this way. Your first meeting with dear old dad, turning into something that resembled more of a meeting of old drinking buddies. But here you sit, thinking that, fuck he's really not that much older than you, and he sure can drink. You respected that in a person, especially when you're three-sheets-to-the-wind yourself. And now he's going down memory lane while you make sand art on the table top with the salt and sugar.

"I have no doubt that if I hadn't gotten Mary pregnant, she'd never've married me. I mean, I know she loved me, and thankfully, she still loves me. But her mother was a piece of work! And, honestly, at the time Mary was all set to go be a college professor out west somewhere. I had no desire to leave the Chicago area. I wanted her to stay, but I just couldn't tell her.

"I was a mess then. Even more than now. I didn't want to hold her back, but I did. Just depended on my level of sobriety, which, back then in general was drunk or drunker. I had a problem. Hell, I still do. If it weren't for Mary I'd probably be in a ditch somewhere or jail or dead. Anyway, after a party when went back to her place, and there was only one condom left, and it… jesus, I don't know why I am telling you this. I mean you're practically my son-in-law, but I am also just a little drunk." He holds his index finger and thumb up about an inch apart, to help make his point, smiles a dopey grin and drunkenly raises his bottle again and you toast him back.

Being just a "little" drunk yourself you assure him, "Don't worry. I'm a real life doctor. I _do_ know where babies come from and getting them in there involves a dude coming more or less in same place."

"God, this is weird. But strangely, I don't want to kill you for that comment."

"Normally, I pride myself in bringing out a murderous rage in others. But when Camerons are involved, I seem to somehow come off as _endearing_. And, strangely, I've become okay with that."

He gives you a thumbs up, then looks down at his bottle, starts to take a drink, but realises there's nothing left. Shrugging, he continues the story of Gabe's conception. "Yeah, so anyway, we were drunk and I kinda jacked up the condom, but it was all we had and it got wet on both sides and slipped off while we were…" He fist-pumps and thrusts his hips a little, and you snicker, "and then there was Gabe.

"She'd never abort," his hand waves in front of his chest dramatically, "and I was happy she didn't want to. For me it was this miracle guarantee that she'd stay and that she'd be with me. That I'd never lose her, because she was the kind of woman who doesn't divorce the father of her children. I know it sounds clingy and pathetic, because she does love me, but at the time I wasn't sure that was going to be enough."

He starts to take another drink from the empty bottle, then eyes it suspiciously, not quite remembering if he's done this before. Setting it back down he sighs and pushes the empty away. "Fatherhood and marriage sobered me. Literally. I didn't want to be a loser, deadbeat drunk of a dad." His hands rub against each other nervously. "My best friend had that and I just couldn't be that guy. I went away to this Jesusy AA camp and dried out, even found the Lord for a hot minute before Mary talked me back down from that.

"Then after a couple of great years, when we were ready to try to do it on purpose, it was a nightmare, and when Mary gave up hope... I thought I might lose her. But Al came along and saved us. She was our miracle baby." He smacks his hand against the table, jaring you a bit in your drunken state. Your head leaning haphazardly in your hand, slips a bit and you startle. "Man, I'm telling you, you'll never really understand until you have a daughter."

He leans forward and waves a finger in your face and you try, in vain to focus on the tip. "If you think love hurts now, you have no idea. If you think love feels amazing now, you've only scratched the surface. And, god knows how I'll feel if you make me grandfather to a little Al clone." He smiles and looks at his empty beer bottle one more time but decides not to take a drink then looks you in the eye as best two drunks can.

"Greg, I'm telling you, don't wait. Marry 'er. Start a family. Then _don't_ fuck it up."

You can't figure this puzzle out. Why are they avoiding each other? He acts like he loves the hell out of her, so why is it so hard? "I'm trying, but her dip-shit of a dad won't come visit us, and since he refused to attend weddings one and two, his daughter is sure he won't bother with number three."

"Man, I wanted to come see the new house, but when she invited me she was practically hostile. And she did it when she _knew_ I's starting a big contract that'd turn the business around."

It your turn to point a drunken finger in his face, "And I call bullshit on that mister 'and my life suddenly had meaning when I looked into Al's eyes for the first time' because if ya _really_ felt that way you'd just show the fuck up. Christ, she talks to Mary once a week! That's like 52 times the number of times I call my mother a year. All you have t' do is act like you wanna talk t'er. _Maybe_ act a _little bit_ sorry for not trusting her to be the perfectly capable adult she is. Ya don't have to _agree_ with her t' respect her."

"I respect her! I'm really proud of her. It's just when you see that your kid is going to do something that'll hurt them, it's not s'easy to just let 'em do it and keep your mouth shut! She didn't have to marry Brian to love him, to be with him, to sit by his bed and watch him die!" He throws his arm out toward the bar, pointing randomly. "She didn't have to throw away her inheritance on his medical bills. He didn't have family, the bills would have just been absorbed by the system. They could have done all the same things without the paperwork and Al wouldn't have needed to start over."

Sitting back you shake your head smugly, "Man, you don't get her at all do you? She's a feeler." You put a fist to your chest and grab your shirt just over your heart, looking up to the ceiling in a dramatic fashion. Then, sit forward and lean your forearms on the table. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not sayin' she's not smart," you tap your temple "or can't think logically, but chances are if her emotions are involved, logic can suck it."

He smacks the table again. "No, I _do_ know that. And that is why I _hated_ Brian. He should have been the one to rein her in. I got no beef with the kid for not wanting to die alone. I think Allison is strong enough t' take the 'motional fallout, but _he_ could have landed _her_ in the poor house, with nothing but a mountain of school debt and no way to crawl back out, just so he could say he died paid in full. That's fucking selfish. How is that love?"

"Selfish's her type. All that selflessness needs someone to _feel_ on. She's not so naive as she was when I hired her. God, I could convince her of just about anything the first coupla years. She's finally figured out that not everyone has other peoples best interests at heart. _Some people_ are users and she gets that now. Maybe you're right," you poke a finger into his chest "maybe Brian was a user, but if you're serious 'bout patching things up with 'er, ya need to just buck up and _lie_. Tell 'er she's _right,_ you're _wrong_. Brian was a _great guy_. You're glad she had his love. All that kind of sappy shit you know she needs to hear. Stop obsessing over the fucking money! Allison didn't end up in the poor house. She's a successful doctor who makes six figures, has a big house with a House who makes six figures." You snicker at your use of your name as a pun. "Hell, with her last promotion I think she makes more than me now… mostly because our boss _loves_ to torture me because she _knows_ I hate change too much to leave."

He's nodding as you lecture him, not noticing your train of thought wondering. "I know, I know. It's just I've had to work hard for _everything_. I didn't have a choice. Life dealt me that hand. Allison could have _anything_ she wants, but she always chooses the hard way. She'd give anybody anything, but she refuses take advantage of any sort of gift she's been given."

You roll your eyes. "And you know what? She's fucking amazing because of it. And you should talk about not wanting help. Everything I've ever heard tells me the apple didn't fall very far from the tree."

* * *

"We'll, I have to say, that in all of the strange and messed up scenarios I imagined that might happen if you ever met my family, my having to bail your and my father's asses out of jail was not one of them."

"Ah, c'mon I know I have a great ass, and I have to admit your dad's is pretty nice too, but only bailing our asses out seems a little harsh." You joke dryly as you sign the release form, your head still pounding from a hangover and a half, and your face still pounding from the left hook of that asshole who disted Mick Jagger.

At least that's what the police say happened, last thing you remember was sitting in a booth with David trying to one up him on classic rock band trivia. David's nuckles were hamburger, he apparently jumped in the fight after you got decked. Then, according to witnesses, you tripped the guy that hit you from your prone position on the floor with your cane, sat on him and pummeled him, as is evidenced in your own bruised, swollen hands. As far as your pickled brain is concerned, you have no clue how you got from the booth at the bar to the local city jail.

"And I see that Mom has found the other half of the Jets."

Embracing the West Side Story reference, you snap your fingers in time and whistle the Jet's theme, as you all exit the building. David smirks, through his own hung-over-grimaced face, and begins to snap with you. "You're both impossible." Allison sighs, none too happy with either of you. She has every right to be pissed for your getting pissed. However, you figure that the outcome was totally worth it.

"Well, there was some good to come out of it. There's no way your dad's missing our wedding after we've shed blood together in an epic bar rumble."

* * *

You were in college the last time you slept in a separate bed while visiting a girlfriend's parents. That was way more fun, because you knew that at some point, well into the night, she'd sneak into your room and wake you up with hot, sneaking-around-behind-mommy-and-daddy's-back sex.

There would be no hot sex tonight.

Or, maybe…

A smile spreads itself across your face as you plot your course from Gabe's old room, to Allison's. You just hope she's actually asleep when you make it there. You doubt, her half asleep form will kick you out of bed if it's being woken up by oral sex. And a sexually sated, angry Allison is far less likely to kick you to the curb than a horny and angry one.

You exit the room and turn right, heading for the room furthest down the long hall. You pass her parents room on the way and smirk at how, even though they are fully aware and not the least bit bothered that you regularly plow their little girl, it gives you a small rush to be sneaking around their home in pursuit of sex.

Just as you pass the bathroom door, you hear something. A bed creaking maybe, so you backpedal and head into the bathroom. You stand in front of the toilet, count to 20, flush, and run some water. Not surprisingly you find Mary on the other side of the door as you exit.

"You know, you're just a little old to be ducking into the bathroom on the way to Allison's bedroom."

"It just felt right at the time." You retort sarcastically.

She crosses her arms smugly. "Uh huh. I'm pretty sure we all know you sleep together, at least when she hasn't banished you. It's not like she's a teenager and you actually are her fun" she puts air quotes around fun, "uncle."

Leaning forward on your cane you admit, "You are far more interesting than I ever imagined."

She simply shrugs, which reminds you of Allison. "She's a big girl. If she doesn't want you there, she is more than capable of kicking you out or screaming. And if she does scream, just remember David has a sword, and he's always wanted to use it."

"What if it's the good kind of screaming?" You waggle your brows, and grin devilishly.

"He's still her father and he still has a sword." She winks and pushes past you into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. You lean on the wall next to the bathroom and think about the exchange. A smirk slowly forms and you push back off the wall and continue on to Allison's room, thinking you might need to find some sort of gag for her, because for some reason you really want to see just how much you can get away with.

You open her door slowly, praying it doesn't creak. Fortunately, it opens silently and you take a step into the darkness of the room. You caught a glimpse of it earlier in the night, right after you arrived. The bed is ahead and to your right. You can't see anything yet, her curtains completely black out any light. Your heart is pounding a little and it thumps in your ears as you inch forward, hoping there aren't any tripping hazards along the way. Finally, your cane makes contact with what must be the edge of the bed.

Another smile forms in the darkness. Leaning forward, you find the edge with your hand and start to crawl in. Just as you do, you are pushed from behind and pinned to the bed. "Just what do you think you're doing? This isn't your room."

The attacker takes full advantage of your surprise and a moment later your hands are cuffed behind you. "You've been a very bad boy."

You start to protest, but a hand covers your mouth. "Shh. Not a word or you won't like what happens next."

You nod. Still not able to see, but you are certainly able to feel. Next thing you know, your mouth is being gagged and your pants pulled down. "I'm going to fuck you like the bitch you are."

Hands are on your boxer-briefs now, pulling them down to your knees. You hear the top of a bottle pop and the familiar sound of lube being squirted just before an extremely cold liquid oozes down your ass crack. "Ugggg." you growl, through the gag.

"Sush!" Your captor demands as you hear the snap of a surgical glove. Fingers dip inside you. You squirm in protest as your cock hardens involuntarily. "Yeah, you are a little slut aren't you."

Two fingers are quickly followed by a third as your ass is spread open. "Is this what you had planned for me? Maybe you wanted to put your big hard cock inside me while I was asleep. Make me come and scream in my parents house?"

You nod again, not sure if she can even see you, but you know she can feel you. Her body is over yours now, a second hand reaches under you and begins to stroke your dick in time with the thrusts to your anus. "One day, I'm going to strap one on and fuck you like we joke about. Make you beg for me to give you my big, hard, dick in your tight ass."

She sure knows how to punish you in the most delicious ways. "But, right now, I'm going to stop and you are going to beg for me to let you come. And if I don't like how you beg, you aren't going to come."

You are past the edge of stopping without pain and she knows it. Fuck, she's good at this. Too damned good, as she continues rewriting all the assumptions you ever had about her sexually. You hear her pull off the glove and a moment later deft fingers release your gag and you roll over and manage to sit up. Your breaths are heavy and labored, your cock is throbbing on the edge of release, but denied. "I'm sorry I tried to trick you. Please baby, I need you to finish me. Make me come, please," you beg in a whisper. Hoping that tossing in an apology will get you bonus points.

It does not.

"I'm not sure you really mean it. Like you say, 'Everybody lies.' Especially a man with a raging, unsatisfied hard-on." A soft moan follows the sound of fingers stroking quickly over a wet clit.

 _Goddamn, too fucking good at this._

Your only recourse is to grovel. "Allison, I love you. I was trying to do a good thing, I just did it in my normal fucked up way. Please… I need your pussy on me. I need to come inside you. I need to show you because I suck at words. Please baby, I don't give a shit about coming unless I'm inside you. Let me show you how I need you. I'm an idiot."

"That's much better. Lie back."

You do as you are told and a moment later are rewarded with her wet heat engulfing your straining shaft fully, and quickly. She rides you forcefully and you come quickly, biting your lip to keep from screaming. She surprises you as she reaches for her clit and brings herself to orgasm with a loud moan of "fuck yeah, Greg!"

Normally, that act would make you ecstatic. You always loved to get Stacy's dad hot under the collar when you'd fuck her to the point of screaming on a visit to his home. However now, you have the distinct feeling you've just been used. Blissfully and thoroughly, but used nonetheless.

You yell whisper, hands still cuffed behind you, "Jesus, Allison. Your father has a fucking sword!"

"I know. What's wrong, House? I didn't think you got embarrassed or worried about the consequences of doing something you want to do?"

"I don't. I just like my balls. I'm rather attached."

She laughs and crawls off of you, nudging you to roll to one side so she can free your hands. "I am too. He sleeps like the dead and wears earplugs to bed. Mom's a romantic. She's probably all giddy that we had make-up sex."

"Your mom is weird." You say as you rub your wrists.

"She is. But you like that."

"Yeah. She's not boring." You pull up your underwear and you reposition yourselves the correct way in her bed. She snuggles into you, despite the fact she's still somewhat pissed off at everyone in the house right now.

"And Dad? You seemed to hit it off with him. Or at least you hit people with him. Nearly the same thing when you have a penis."

You pull her close and wrap your arm around her. "Yeah. Also not boring. And he loves the hell out of you. He's just not sure how to fix things so he avoids the problem entirely. I think he's ready to admit he was wrong and move on. You should do the same, because it's not worth it."

She rolls over in your arms to face you, despite not really being able to see much in the low light. "Why is it so hard for you to show this side of yourself? Why can't you just say that to me like a normal person? Just like you did now, but without the fight?"

"Seriously!?" you whisper yell again. "I have! You just have selective hearing."

"Greg, I don't want to fight anymore." Okay, she's totally fighting like a woman now. There is no winning. But you'll be damned if you turn into a man who just says 'yes dear' to avoid the fight.

"Neither to I, but I did tell you."

"I think that we should just drop it and go to sleep. Look, you win. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I hate fighting with you."

"There is one good side to it." you tease and pull her close to you. "Make up sex with your dominatrix side is fucking hot. It's no wonder Chase followed you around like a puppy."

"You know my rule." She still doesn't like to discuss her sex life with Chase with you.

You can't help but smile, because you are certain you are right. After all he admitted he'd been a willing and happy sub before. "But I'm right aren't I? You totally had him in a gimp suit every weekend."

"No." she maintained.

"Liar."

"No. Not lying." She rolls over again and snuggles her ass right up against your junk. God, you love how she feels against you.

"Fine. Don't tell me. It's more fun to imagine anyway."

"It was on Tuesdays." she giggles.

You snicker gleefully, having finally extracted a juicy piece of ammo. After a few moments of laughing you both quite down. "I love you," you whisper and kiss her head.

"Yeah, I know," she answers quietly, with a sigh, still frustrated with your stupidity, but on her way to forgiveness.

 _I hope so._ You think just before you are finally able to find sleep.

* * *

 _Notes: A_ _tavares-thanks another million times. Wonder if our stars will ever align again like on His Little Girl? It's been touch and go lately with our schedules, I know, but I am so happy you are sticking with me._

 _So... question to the masses. Are you still into this? I get stats that indicate that folks are at least opening the chapters up, but honestly I feel like people aren't that into it. I know I'm always saying I'm not a review whore, and I'm not, but the last few chapters haven't had much feedback at all, which does makes me wonder. I'm ok with feedback of either kind, either way I like to know how people feel (even when I disagree it's flattering because you cared enough to type it). But getting so much nothing just feels like people are lukewarm about where I've been going. I can adjust things if I need to, but don't want to if everyone is loving it, but lurking._

 _I have a few other stories on the backburner that I could focus more on, and wrap this one up in a few more chapters so it has a proper ending. OR, if many of you are still really digging it, but just not reviewing (which I understand, cause I get lazy about leaving reviews on long stories too) now would be a great time for you to drop a few words in the form of a review, just to let me know you are still invested. I am happy to continue posting chapters to this story, but I wanna make sure my time is spent on things that people most want to read. :)_

 _Thanks so much!_


	19. Filling Positions

**Chapter 19: Filling Positions**

You have one more night in Chicago before you head home. Allison's temper was still on simmer. She'd woken up on Thursday early with the intention of catching breakfast with David, only to find out he'd been called away an hour previous to deal with some kind of vandalism at one of his sites. After a long day, he came home tired and pissed off and in no right mood to have 'the' conversation. Someone like you would force it, but Allison isn't you.

To his credit, he didn't touch a drop of booze back home. If he sneaked it, you would have noticed. You notice these things better than anyone. It seems he claims to not keep any in the house now, as far as anyone can see that's true, but you are sure he has a hiding place. However, there is only so far you can snoop without bringing attention of it to Allison.

You aren't looking to pick a fight and you might actually drink it if you find it, so you put the idea out of your mind for the time being.

The early part of Thursday was spent hanging out with Allison's grandmother — her father's mother. She was every bit the hit of the retirement home Allison made her out to be. Two men there bought her extra bingo cards for the afternoon game. You won a round, the prize for which was a free lunch buffet for two at the Chinese restaurant a block away, so you took Gran for some all-you-can-eat chicken fried rice and moo shu pork.

She slipped you a twenty under the table and told you to pay for her dinner, explaining she didn't want you to have to pay for the extra meal, but it wasn't proper for the man at the table to not be seen picking up the tab. You made sure the bill went back in her handbag when she wasn't looking. You didn't even tell Allison because you didn't need her to smile her 1000 watt smile at you merely because you don't want to rob her Gran.

Maybe you could have used the bonus points, but there were other ways. Kissing up to her grandmother is so not your style. The afternoon was spent strolling along the lake. You had to stop a few times because your damned leg was having a bad day. But, you've had far worse and did your best to not let the full extent of the pain be known to her either. You don't want charity points for real pain.

She'd been rightfully and fully angry with you. For both your prank gone wrong and your fall off the wagon. It wasn't fair to her. You'd put her in a position of owning your sobriety and by violating your pact with her—the one you'd pushed her, despite her lack of comfort, to accept—you've made her feel like she's failed you somehow. It's a potent medicine for you. Like always, when emotions got involved, you fail miserably at making the correct decision.

You've hurt her. And in turn, you've hurt yourself. Maybe you deserve a little pain for that.

Hopefully, Friday will provide some useful groveling time for you and bonding time for Allison and David. You promised her you would get up early and make breakfast. She smiled and took you to the grocery on the way home.

Of course, after promising, you found out making breakfast for the Cameron household translates to getting up at least an hour before the butt-crack of dawn. It's no wonder she always makes it into work on time. Getting up at 6 AM to get to work by 8 would be sleeping in here. This is one thing you'll never have in common with her or her parents. Jesus H. Christ, you are fairly sure you might be insane for deciding to do it this one morning.

By 5:30 you have the home smelling of coffee, bacon, french toast, and eggs. You heard the Camerons awake and getting ready for their day around the time you cracked the first egg. As you drop your second batch of french toast in the pan, you sense someone walking up behind you. A second later, you get a pinch on the ass and a kiss on the cheek. Turning, you face a smirking, pajama-clad David. "Well, if Al doesn't marry you, I might. Mary never makes french toast and if she did, I am pretty sure no one would want to risk eating it."

He reaches across you to the warm pan full of bacon and grabs a slice, pops it in his mouth, winks at you and walks away to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Do you hit on all Allison's boyfriends? Or is it because of my big cane? I know some really cool tricks with it… if ya know what I mean." You say, giving him a waggle of the eyebrows.

"Oh, gawd… Greg, if you are going to explore your obvious bisexual tendencies with someone other than Wilson, could you at least not target my father. That's just… ew."

"Hey! _He_ grabbed _my_ ass!" You whine in defense, noting the amount of tension between them is as low as you've seen it.

She joins David at the coffee pot and pushes him to the side with her hip before grabbing a mug. "Sorry Al. It's just your mother never makes me french toast. I have weaknesses."

She continues to banter with him as she pours the brew. "Yeah, well you can have all you want of his french toast, so long as you remember his sausage and biscuits are mine." David looks mortified and chokes a little on his coffee, but he did start it. She's testing him, seeing how much leverage his newfound contrition will give her.

"I think the screams night before last gave that away," Mary states, as she walks into the room joining the conversation.

"Screams!?" He glares at you playfully and asks "Do I need to get out my sword?" However, there is a dark look under the surface screaming 'Hey, I like you but that's still my little girl you're screwing in my home!'

You tease back dryly. "I'm pretty sure your desire to poke me with your sword is what got us into this mess in the first place." A faint burning smell wafts up to your nostrils. "Shit!" Nearly screwed the batch of toast with all the banter, but save it just in time, thankfully.

Allison helps set the kitchen table as her parents chat about work. Mary, who's been working at a local community college since Allison left home, is considering cutting back to part time at the end of the year. It seems David hadn't been joking about the turn in his business and they don't need the extra income anymore. She is looking forward to finally having some real time to devote to writing again.

You make a mental note to find some of her published works and turn the stove off before helping Allison move everything to the table.

Before sitting, you and David head to the coffee pot for a refill. You lean in and whisper in his ear. "So, Allison has a birthday next weekend and you are both coming to Princeton. I will hold this french toast hostage to get what I want." Smacking his ass for good measure, you limp ahead of him to the table.

"I cannot believe you just smacked my father's ass," Allison broods, but you can see the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of her mouth and you know things might actually turn out to be okay.

"It's a very spankable ass," Mary adds with a wink.

* * *

Allison and Mary made plans to shop and get their hair done in the afternoon. It was an excuse to see Allison's aunt. "Is she the water versus hairspray aunt?" you ask as she towels off from a post-run shower.

"One and the same. Dad's brother's wife. He's the cop I was telling you about. We're all probably going to go to a football game tonight. They're playing the big cross-town rival, which I don't give two shits about, but I would like to hear the band and see my old director. He's still working there and one of my friends from the drumline is now the assistant director."

"Okay," you say, not really caring. You like sports so going to a game is fine by you, but right now all you can think about is how perfect the mound of her pussy looks from behind as she props one leg up on a chair and bends over to dry it. You grab your phone and snap a picture for later.

"What are you going to do while we're off doing hen things?"

"After I masturbate to this" you hold up the phone smugly and wiggle the image at her, she shakes her head at you, but doesn't demand its deletion, "I'll probably head downtown to this cool custom bike shop I found online."

She straightens up quickly, exclaiming, "We just bought a road bike!" and her breasts jiggle deliciously.

Your eyes stayed glued to those lovely pink nipples as you explain. "I know, but it's far less cool for daily driving than my old bike and it's not a chopper. These guys make badass choppers."

Finally, your eyes work their way back to hers and she looks at you with that adorable tilt of her head and a hand on her naked hip, "What's a chopper?"

"God, I want to fuck you so hard when you give me that look. Especially when you're naked."

"Down boy. I just got clean."

"There is no _down_ in my _boy_ right now." In fact, you are quite glad you are still in your pajama pants because your 'boy' has all the room he needs to express the truth of your words.

"Well, you know where your hand is. I have to get dressed and get going."

"Just one suck, on one breast?" You pout inching closer to her, hoping your proximity and smell will get her to reconsider.

"You can't stop with just one." She looks up into your eyes — challenging you.

You bend your head and place a feather light kiss on her lips. Pulling back, you take in the look on her face — head still tilted back, eyes slowly opening again to meet the heat in yours. "No, _I_ can stop with one. _You_ are the one who can't stop with just one suck, you'll tell me how the other is jealous, then I'll be obligated to suck it too and then you'll make the noise and when you make that noise neither of us can stop."

Your fingers raise and you trace them over her hip bone, up her smooth stomach until your thumb grazes over her left nipple. She gasps, and makes 'the noise'.

Score.

A moment later you are sitting in the chair, pants, and boxers around your ankles, cock buried deep inside her, getting full access to both her breasts while she rides you. You latch on to the left as a knock sounds at the door. "Allison, hon, we're going to be late! Finish whatever it is you are doing in there and let's go before the early lunch traffic makes it a real nightmare.

You suck harder, hoping to make her voice shake as she answers. "Kaaaay. I'll um, just be, um a few more, oh... minutes."

"Good Lord, you two. I'll be in the car. I am still your mother, despite my teasing earlier, I really don't want to know this much about your sex life."

"Sorry, Mom!" You tease and get an eye roll and a hand over your mouth. Your response is to thrust up faster and drop a hand to Allison's clit. She's coming a moment later and it's your turn to cover her screams with a hand while the tremors of her orgasm milk one from you.

"I hate you. You do know that, right?" She asks, between heavy breaths, her forehead against yours. She's teasing, of course.

"You started it, with all the screaming the other night. There is no way I'm ever going to give a shit about being sneaky here now. Unless David really does get out the sword."

"It's so weird how well the two of you get along. Brian and Chase never even got past the 'Mr. Cameron' stage."

"Brian wasn't around long enough and Chase isn't nearly your father's age. David's closer to my age than you are. By a lot. Other than the fact that I don't normally like people and people normally love to hate me, I fail to see why it'd surprise you that we'd act more like peers than father and son-in-law."

"I guess. It's just… I never really think of you as being older. You always act more like a twelve-year-old. And he's… Dad. He and Mom were always playful, and they aren't the sort of fake parents who are totally different people with their kids than with their friends, but this visit is the first time they've really treated me more like a friend than a kid. And I know it's because of you. Maybe it is just the age thing." She shrugs as she jumps up and leaves you to deal with cleaning up the proof of your orgasm. "I don't really know what I expected. But I know for sure it wasn't this. Not that it isn't cool. But it is kinda weird. You have to admit that at least."

"Yes, our mutually liking of one another is very weird." Looking down at the mess she's left, you survey the immediate area for something to wipe yourself off. She notices, picks up her towel and tosses it at you. Catching it, you clean yourself and continue, "However, we did get into a bar fight and did jail time together. He also wants in my pants, which, I thought would probably happen with your mother, but I guess you get your attraction to tall, dark and misanthropic men from the Cameron side."

She gives you a glare as she adjusts her bra. Guess she's not so fond of making gay jokes about you when they involve dear old dad. You're totally using that later, but for now, you need to make sure you have the right balance of normal you and sorry, groveling boyfriend you. "Are you still mad at me?"

"Yes. But I also love you and I appreciate what you're trying to do and... it's like what Bertie said about Connor, I know what I signed up for. It's just more than I can take on the chin sometimes. I know you do crazy things to get the outcome you think is best. But it doesn't make it any less frustrating when I'm at the epicenter of it."

That's a relief, but it still leaves you uneasy. Part of you still feels like you are destined to screw this up. That even Allison Cameron will have a limit to her patience for your screw-ups. That you need some way to ensure she'll never leave you, but short of actually knocking her up, you're not sure what. "So, I guess this means more make-up sex?"

"I do rather enjoy your tongue when it's too occupied with my body for you to speak." She jokes as she pulls her jeans over her sexy little ass and zips up.

"I did see some viagra in your parent's medicine cabinet if you're looking for a quick round two." You waggle your eyebrows as you pull up your own pants and stand. She pulls your favorite red tee shirt over her head and down her lithe body, where it stops short of the waistband of her jeans.

"See, that's the kind of thing that gets your tongue in trouble." She sighs, picks up her purse and kisses you on her way to the door.

"Consider it payback for telling me how much my mother enjoyed making me," you say with a wink as she walks away.

Pausing after she opens the door, she looks back to you over her shoulder. "Oh, it wasn't just the making you part. It was also the making out part. I'm guessing, from the color of her blushing when she talked about it, you also have your father's tongue." She winks and leaves you with that awful image burned into your brain. Oral sex imagery and your mother are so NOT supposed to be in your mind at the same time.

* * *

You make it to the bike shop with no problems. A cab drops you off out front. The lot has about 30 bikes and you can see through the window there are maybe 30 more on the inside. A chipper salesman approaches you within a minute, jumping right into a practiced sales pitch of awful. Strike one against the place. You were expecting a burly dude with a barrel chest, a bandana and a mustache with chops to come show you his perfectly crafted children. This lameo is a douche.

The nice thing about the modern age is you can get rid of anyone with the help of your cell phone. You have an app for this type of problem. Pushing your hand into your pocket you execute a few memorized motions to turn on the app and ring your phone.

Pulling it from your pocket you say, "I have to take this," answer it and walk off leaving him to find another victim. As soon as you are out of range, you pull the phone down and hit your speed dial for Wilson. If you are going to have the damned thing on your ear, might as well actually talk to someone.

 _"Hey, House. I've been won…"_ Wilson starts, but you cut him off.

"So, I need you to help me plan a party." You run a finger over a sparkle red gas tank, on a model with high handlebars and a very thin frame.

 _"I thought you hated my parties."_ He whines.

That bike is far too girly. Maybe if Allison ever learned to drive one, something like that would suit her. But you'd look like you're riding a toy.

You confirm your friend's theory as you move on to another. "I do, but they're exactly the kind of lame Allison likes. I mean, there's a chance her folks would be into strippers and complimentary lap dances, and I know one of her nephews would be, but I'm currently in the win column in the parent department for a change, so I figure _your_ kind of party is a much better idea for Allison's birthday."

Now this bad boy, with the fat tires, low handle bars and silver tank with dark blue flames is a man's bike.

 _"Riiiiight."_ He says sarcastically, before making a serious suggestion. _"So it'll still be warm, we should have a pool party."_

This bike screams fat, ball busting, bald guy, though. Totally not you either.

You sigh and walk on. "So, no inviting Taub then. No need to blind the other guests."

Wilson lets out a humph, _"Thought she didn't like him anyway."_

"She'd never say that… but… yeah, he's not her favorite guy." Oh, this one is kinda okay. It reminds you of your old flaming cane.

 _"So we don't invite your team then?"_

You shrug as if he can see you, "Chase is cool."

 _"I'll never understand how you managed to make all of that work out."_

Na, the seat on this one doesn't look like it would work for Allison to ride with you. You can't get a bike that doesn't have a seat for your hot biker babe.

"Chase is as obsessed with me as she is. He just doesn't want in my pants."

 _"Any other work people, besides Rebecca? Cuddy maybe?"_

"Well, I know at least one person who would be excited about Cuddy in a swimsuit."

 _"Oh, that's right. Tommy has the hots for her."_ Wilson snickers.

You are starting to see a theme here of single seats. Maybe they have better choices inside.

"Had at least. Who knows, maybe she's been replaced by one of his teachers."

 _"It would be kind of fun to observe."_

"Yeah. So long as he manages to act normally around me now." God, that fucking kid, and his cameras. Although, they have given you some sweet surveillance in the clinic hallway.

Wilson reassures you, _"He'll be fine. Think Allison would want Cuddy and her family there?"_

"They're fine, I guess. I'd not go so far as to say they are besties, but Allison would probably think it was a good idea to at least invite her." You let out a frustrated sigh. You don't know if inviting Mrs., Mr., and baby Cuddy is a good idea or not. "Honestly, these are all the kinds of things I am pawning this off on you to decide. I don't do the social contract stuff, remember?"

You can tell by the pregnant pause, he's given in. All will be planned and you don't need to deal with it.

 _"So how was it meeting your family?"_

Opening the door, you walk into the showroom. "Meh. Some good, some bad. My brothers don't seem to share my genius, the good looking one's an idiot. Got a cool sister out of it. She's pretty hot too. If Sam doesn't work out, I could hook you up. But if you cheat on her, I'd have to pull my big brother card and kick your ass, so maybe that's a bad idea because you will cheat. It's what you do."

 _"Thanks."_

"Hey, I'm simply an observer of the truth."

Oh, this one might work.

 _"That's it? Allison sent me some cool pictures and a video of you playing your dad's guitar."_

"Yeah, that was bitchin. Step-mom's cool. Kinda a redneck, but the fun hippy kind, not the 'Obama's a dirty Muslim' kind. She had some really great weed. If the dealer you have for your patients falls through, you should totally talk to her."

Looking more closely at the design, you think your leg couldn't do that position for long. So, yet another strike.

 _"You got high with your step-mother?! Does Allison know?"_

"Oh, hell yes she knows! She got high as fuck with us. It was adorable, and she rolls a mean blunt. Seriously! Oh, and after her mother and I failed at our prank to convince her that I was really her biological uncle, I fell off the wagon, got blitz with her dad, we got arrested together after a bar fight and now he's like my BFF."

 _"You tried to convince her of wha… Wait, you got arrested with Cameron's dad?! Seriously! I don't know why I am shocked. It's you. Of course you got arrested and somehow ended up making that work for you."_

"It's a gift."

 _"It's something. Maybe a defect in Cameron DNA."_

"Could be. He does want to trade sexual favors for french toast…"

 _"I'm hanging up now."_

"Jealous?"

 _"Goodbye, House."_

"Later, Wilson."

* * *

You looked at a ton of cool choppers at the little shop, but none of them screamed "I'm your badass chopper. Buy me and fuck your hot fiancée on me!" The owner and main builder finally showed up, was a proper badass-mother-fucker and almost had you sold on getting a fully custom model — that is until you saw the pricing. Nothing shrinks a bike-boner faster than needing a second mortgage to pay for it. Allison will be happy you resisted. She thinks the two of you are going overboard on spending lately anyway.

The cabbie drops you off and you toss a few bills into your vacated seat, tell him to keep the change as you close the door, and make your way back up the driveway to the Camerons' 1960s old-suburbia yellow brick ranch. Mary's little red Hyundai Accent is back in the drive, so you try the door before you bother fishing the key they lent you from your pocket. Finding it unlocked, you walk in and come face to face with Cameron standing inside the foyer.

And you mean Cameron. Dark chocolate hair, lightly curled with sublet and sexy highlights, Cameron.

 _Fuck._

 _Me._

 _Now._

You swallow hard, glad 51-year-old guys don't pop spontaneous boners at the mere site of a breathtaking woman, otherwise, it would be obvious to Mary, who is standing a few feet behind her, just how much her little girl turns you on. Eyes which now seem bluer meet your eyes. It's a replay of the moment in the red dress, so many years ago. "I think he likes it," Mary says, but the words barely register in a brain quickly losing the battle for blood flow, age be damned.

Cameron's mouth moves. _She musta had them do her makeup too because her lips are so very red and wet._ _Wonder if it's the kind that will smear? Is that a smirk?_ Obviously, she's enjoying the dumbstruck-into-silence look you have plastered to your face right now. "... a bike?"

"Hmm?" Is she asking you something? _God, I bet that hair looks amazing on her naked body, with the stark contrast to her fair skin. And it looks so incredibly soft._ It always looked so much more soft in brunette shades.

She might be talking again, but you continue to be mesmerized by how much the simple change draws your eyes to different features. It's rather fascinating, but entirely frustrating since you can't take her like an animal here in front of her mother.

Fingers snap inches in front of your eyes. "Bike. Greg. You were shopping for a bike. Earth to Greg. Is anyone there?"

"What?" Finally, you realize how long you've been staring. "Sorry… It's just your hair. It's really pretty." It finally occurs to you, you can touch it. Cameron's not out of bounds in that way anymore, she's your Allison. So you raise your left hand and rub a few strands in your fingers gently, reveling in the silky texture of it, imagining how it will look spread out over a pillow with her naked below you — how it will look and feel spilled over your hips and thighs as she sucks you, how her eyes will look peeking up through that mess of dark hair, with those red lips surrounding your straining prick.

"It changes the color of your eyes. I forgot how much more blue they look with the darker hair. The makeup looks good too."

Unable to stand it any longer, your hand drops and you take her hand. Moving past her, you gently tug, bidding she follow. Finally looking away from her, you see a smirking Mary. "Not a bit obvious there, Greg."

"Was this your idea?" you ask, nodding your head back toward Allison, who is now smiling brilliantly at your reaction to her.

"Yeah, I always thought it suited her and she said she was bored with her look lately. Color's the best way to spice things up."

"Well then, Mom, it's all your fault. So, make sure to let David know that if he gets in before we're done and gets itchy sword hand. We have to go practice for making your grand-children and it's not going to be quiet."

"Damn. I hope David likes mine as much." She winks and heads to the door. "Guess I'll just go meet him at work and take him for some coffee so he doesn't get traumatized."

 _Oh, hey, her pixie-cut hair is dark now too_ , you were too distracted to notice at first. The silver suited her, but the dark color is extremely well done, and it knocks a few more years from her perceived age. God, Allison has great genes. Mary is still a beautiful woman, despite the 17 years between you. But no time to dwell on that, or you'll think too many things you really shouldn't.

"He'll like it. If not, he's an idiot and might really be gay."

With that, you pull again at your muted woman and head back to her bedroom. "Still hate me?" you ask.

"More than ever." She answers as she closes the door behind you. "Mom thinks we're nymphos."

You give her your best 'duh' look and shrug. "We are."

"I know. But she's not supposed to know. She teased me non-stop all day. Got all the ladies at the salon completely riled up. She showed them your facebook profile picture and they really laid it on thick about how men in their early 50s are at the peak of their hotness. And it's a great thing for girls of my generation that viagra is a thing."

"Hey!" You laugh, picturing Allison being harassed by a gaggle of older woman, all giddy about her affair with the older man. "No viagra needed here! Little Greg is offended by the assumption. I hope you defended his honor."

"It was worse than when she took me there to get my hair done for prom. Good god! I had no idea my skin could be that color red. Least, after working with you for so long, I'm less susceptible to embarrassing sexual innuendos. Aunt Nancy's regulars are the worst!"

"I think it's gonna get your dad laid. Your mom had the look of a cougar ready to claim her cub."

"Yeah, well, she was always the instigator."

"Never met a cougar that wasn't. Enough about them. I have my own kitten in need of attention." You lead her to the edge of the bed. You take a seat in the chair and turn it to face her, as you put on your best interviewer face.

"Your CV was very good Dr. Cameron, but I'm afraid I'm going to need to see _all_ of your assets if I'm going to seriously consider you for this position."

She falls into character immediately. "Well, Dr. House, I heard you have a few positions that need to be filled. Maybe I could show you a little of my work in each of them, and you can decide which is the best one to _fill me in_ … I mean, _for me to fill_."

"Excellent suggestion, Dr. Cameron! I like the way you think. Creative thinking is important for all the positions I'm looking to fill you in. I've heard you have a superlative and radical new technique for administering the male physical. I was rather intrigued with your paper on the topic in May's medical journal. In fact, it inspired me to reevaluate the standard physical for women. I thought perhaps, you could help me review and test my findings. The research position is one of the most valuable you could fill with my cock… um I mean, _on my team_."

"I think that's a great idea, Dr. House! Should we go to the clinic and find a volunteer?"

"No need. You can stand in for the patient in this scenario. It will give you a first-hand view of the whole procedure."

"Agreed."

"I'll need you to take off your clothes and sit on the edge of the bed. I'm going to need to get out of these clothes as well. They restrict my movements too much during the examination."

"I totally understand. It's very important to be comfortable while you work."

Allison is exceptional at role play. Stacy found it silly, she either overacted, or lost character completely laughing at the cheesiness of it. Some of your short term girlfriends had been up for it with varying degrees of success. A few of your professional ladies are, were, very good. No surprise there, since they are role playing even when their not. The problem with prostitutes is you don't really know them. There's no intimacy to it. When you look them in the eyes, there is no love there. No real sharing of the jokes.

Sure, they all like you. You're not the average John. But your entire life you've craved for someone to really love you in an intimate way. It's a tall order and you know it. The way Allison looks at you when she plays, it's a look you've craved your whole life. It's water to a man who's been lost in the desert for far too many lonely years.

She begins to pull her shirt over her head. You stand and approach her. "Let me help you with that." You indicate to her bra as you toss your cane to the foot of the bed. She turns, and you push her dark mane to one side, lower your head and kiss where her neck and shoulder meet.

Suddenly, you are less interested in your game. Her flesh is hot under your lips. Her soft moan flips a switch and you need to make love to her. "On second thought," you whisper in her ear "this game can wait for when we get back to work." A hand moves up and finds your hair. Another slips between you and rubs your hardening shaft through your jeans. Your hands find the button of her jeans and start opening them. "I want to make my fiancée come for me. I want to see what color your eyes look with your dark hair as you come hard for me. I want to see how it changes the blush of your cheeks, the color of your lips. God, you're so fucking beautiful."

"I guess you like it better this color?"

"I like it in a different way. Hooker-blonde really works for you too. But I've had real sex with blonde you. I've only had sex with brunette you in my fantasies. I need to experience it first hand, not by hand-proxy."

"Then don't deny yourself any longer, _House_. Fuck me like you've always wanted."

You've joked with her more than once about how your mind has made two personas of her. One being the woman you want to marry, who your mind dreams of in blonde, the other being your hot but off limits former employee, who you dream of in brunette. Off limits only because you needed the boundary because she needed a chance to become this woman, and giving in to her then would have crushed her, preventing it.

She knows you think about it. How you could have had her. How she would have given herself to you if you only asked. She has no idea how hard it had been to resist, at least in the first year or so. You suppose you have Stacy to thank for distracting you, or you may have given in. Cameron was still part kid then and you were even more fucked up than you are now. You're not sure you'll ever tell her how close she came to a likely oblivion with you.

But now… now she's more and more your equal. And now you can put flesh to the dream of dark luscious locks weaved into your fingers while you do the most delicious things to her — while she does them to you in return.

"Fuck _Cameron_ , you know how to tease a man's prick."

"I'm no tease. You can have me however you like me. Knowing I've made you this hard twice in one day makes me dripping wet. And the way you're looking at me, god, I love that look. I love that I get to fuck you now when you look at me like that. I've never had another man make me drip with just a look. You feel that? Feel how wet you made me before you even touched me?"

She isn't lying. Her pussy is slick under your fingers and you've only now put a finger between her folds. She is still mostly clothed. Plunging your middle finger inside her, you lubricate it, pull back out and up to her clit. You are insanely turned on by how turned on she is. "No other man has ever made you ejaculate either. Now if there have been women, I'll forgive you, but only if you give me a full report." you tease, but she's too busy working her hand into your jeans to offer a retort.

When she wraps her fingers around your barely freed shaft, you whisper more promises in her ear. "I'm going to make you come like this, then you are going to suck my cock, then I'm going to suck your clit after that, I'm going to spread you open and fuck you slowly until you spray me. And, since it's only fair to share, I'll spray you."

She comes for you. _Always so responsive. Fuck._

Pulling your hand from her pants, your fingers trail her wetness up her stomach, between her breasts, and finally end in her mouth, where she sucks them clean, sending blood pulsing to your already throbbing prick. "You like sucking your come off my fingers, don't you? I know how good you taste, so I can't blame you. Your come is delicious."

"My come _is_ delicious when I get to lick it off of any part of you. I'm addicted to the way I taste on you. On your fingers. On your mouth… On your _cock_. I fucking _love_ licking my come off your _cock_." Her hand squeezes gently and her jean clad ass presses against you. It's nice, especially with the dirty talk, but you need more. You need the lips which just teased your fingers to engulf your cock. Pushing her forward, with one last nibble to her jugular, you order "get naked and on your knees."

You move around her and sit on the bed with a flop as you pull your jeans and boxers down. You kick off your shoes as your push them off completely, sitting up, you see she's beaten you and is smiling as she moves up to stand between your legs. You pull your shirt over your head and toss it to the floor as she drops to her knees. Fuck, her eyes really do look bluer. And that lipstick needs to be on your prick, smearing itself all over the shaft.

As if she read your mind, her lips kiss the tip then trail more kisses down the shaft and to your balls. She gently takes one in her mouth, sucking it carefully, driving you mad.

Your hands finally take hold of her hair, tugging it only hard enough to get her attention. "Stop playing and suck my dick. And look at me while you fuck me with your mouth and that whore-red lipstick."

Her eyes meet yours through a mess of dark waves. You've had this dream before — more than once. After seeing her in that damned red dress with lips red just like this. Only her lips are far more hot around your prick now. "Goddamn, that's so fucking sexy."

The back ridge of your head is gliding over the ridges of her palate, her tongue is massaging the underside. She hasn't even gotten to the best part of this blowjob and already the waves of pleasure pulsing up from your groin are nearly more than you can handle. It's the visuals. It's all about how red your cock is becoming thanks to that lipstick and how wild her hair looks as her mouth bobs up and down.

When you think you can't take anymore she pushes forward all the way and plunges the tip of your cock into her throat. She squeezes the base, just as she has you in all the way and holds you there inside her. Her eyes water now, but she doesn't gag, doesn't pull back. She smirks as best a girl with a mouth full of cock can at the look of ecstasy she is putting on your face. After a few seconds, she moves again, knowing she's extended your time.

Your fingers tighten in her hair and you begin to fuck her. She is so damn good at taking it! You can't count the number of times you wanted to fuck her pretty little mouth under your desk when she worked for you. Now her mouth is around your dick and you know she can take all of it. She loves taking all of it. Your cheeks are flushing hot now, it's time to stop or this song will be over far before the coda.

"Your turn," you tell her and pull her greedy mouth from your dick, which is now smeared with a lovely shade of red. Her tongue snakes out for one final lick of the tip and you shudder. "Naughty girl. I said it's your turn. Now get up here before I have to spank you."

Her tongue snakes out again and swirls around the tip once more. Daring you to make good on your threat. "Oh, you don't think I'll spank you? Or maybe you want me to spank you? I do seem to remember you expressing how much the idea of your former boss spanking you was a turn on. Maybe you'd like Dr. House to spank Dr. Cameron?"

"I've been very bad Dr. House. You shouldn't let your subordinates get away with this kind of insolent behavior. You don't want me to become a bad doctor do you?"

"Over my lap, then. I'll administer the appropriate discipline."

She does as you instruct and you realize it's a massive turn on to be spanking her in her childhood bedroom. Too bad Mary didn't leave it with the teenage decorations, that would really make it all the dirtier, but it's still… So. Very. Hot. "You like that I'm going to spank you here? In your room, in your parent's house."

She looks back at you over her shoulder, bites her lip and shakes her head 'yes'. Damn, you are so hard right now. Stroking her soft round ass you plan your first strike. A finger traces over her slit, reveling in the wetness it finds. Her inner thighs are soaked as well. She's drenched because of you, wiggling decadently, anticipating when the first strike will come.

Now it's your turn to tease.

Pulling your hand back, as if to hit, she tenses. Your hand returns softly and resumes fondling, making her wait yet again for the discipline to begin. She exhales and squirms more, her side rubbing against your prick. Her pussy is pulsing, tempting you to add a finger or two, but you only trace the opening.

Twice more you do this. Pretending you will strike, but stroking her gently instead. Her breaths are ragged now, her moans tortured, her need for you evidenced in the copious amounts of fluid dripping down her legs. She groans, "House…" but you can barely tell the difference in your name and the other sexy little noises your teasing is eliciting from her. It's then you strike quickly, without warning, reddening the ass cheek furthest from you.

She jumps and squeals, but you hold her down and rub over the hot flesh to sooth it. "I love how my hand print looks on your perfect ass. But the problem now is they're asymmetrical." A second blow remedies the problem, and she jumps again. This time you plunge two fingers inside her roughly and get a yelp-moan as your reward.

"God, you _are_ a fucking bad little girl." You extract the fingers quickly and strike each cheek again in swift succession. Your other hand moves up from her back and finds her mouth. She greets your fingers, sucking wildly on them as you plunge your others into her pussy again, this time adding the third and fourth, before finally slipping your thumb in her anus. "You have no idea how much I wish I had a cock for every one of your perfect little holes. How much I wish I could fuck you in all of them at the same time because they're all so phenomenal."

You extract all your digits and get a disappointed grunt, to which you respond to with two more smacks. Her ass is glowing red and your cock is starting to hurt from the strain. You need to get it inside of her. "Now, get on the bed. Lie on your stomach so I can admire my handiwork."

She stands up, then crawls into the bed behind you, doing as you instructed and lying on her stomach with her bright red ass in full view. You turn and crawl over her, covering her full body with yours, teasing her ass crack with your massive erection.

Her hair smells good, but not exactly like her because the salon products aren't her normal brands. It's like she's a different woman in some ways, in fun ways that let your mind play games, yet she is the same in the ways that matter. "Feel how hard you've made me?" You whisper in her ear through her hair.

You move down her body a few inches, line yourself up and push inside her. "Oh, fuck, baby, your pussy is on fire." Your legs squeeze hers shut, as you slide in and out of her, sliding your shaft around the curve of her butt. She's so wet… "I want to fuck your ass, baby. Is that okay? My cock is so wet, I bet I don't even need lube."

Your answer comes in the form of her ass raising, pushing you from her pussy. As she settles back down you align yourself with her back door. God, it's so hot — what she lets you do to her — what she _wants_ you to do to her.

Pushing slowly, you slip forward but not in. You get more of her lubrication with your fingers, then push two inside her ass, opening more and making it slicker. You line up your cock again, this time pushing your way inside stopping after the tip. She arches with a hiss. You know it's rawer than the other times you've taken her this way, but you can't see straight because of the throbbing need to be inside her most intimate place. "Fuck baby. You are so fucking tight. Relax for me. You know it'll feel good once we get it all the way in."

She nods and you can feel her body starting to perspire. You push; she grabs the sheets with both fists and bites down on the pillow. Finally, you drive the thickest part past the sphincter and her head raises with a low sexy cry. "Jesus, Greg…"

"I know, Ally baby…" Moving in and out without hurry, you savor the tightness of this perfect hole she offers you shamelessly. Your hands cover hers and you weave your fingers between hers as you press into her over and over. You pull out all the way and her breath hitches, you stroke her now opened orifice with only the tip and she moans, you fill her with every inch and she pushes back against you for more.

"Tell me how it feels, Allison." You breathe into her ear then capture the lobe with your teeth and gently tug.

"It's so good. I never imagined it would be this good. I thought the women in porn were faking it, but I love how your cock feels inside my ass. The way it feels when you pull it out all the way, then tease me with just the tip, it's like being suspended on the edge of an orgasm and I wonder if I could actually come from you only fucking me like this."

Goddamn, you sure as hell would like to see that and you are more than willing to keep trying for as long as it takes to find out. Growling at the proposition, you lean down and bite her shoulder, pounding hard into her with strokes as long as your cock will allow until you come hard inside her and immediately fall limp.

Your full weight presses her smaller body into the mattress. Sweat and scents mingle as you come down from your high. She lets you nearly crush her, intoxicated by the extreme intimacy of what you've done to her. But you can't leave her like this — on the edge of release. Sure you've made her come once, but all that delicious build-up since will be wasted if you don't dig deep and find some energy to finish her. Or at least enough to encourage her to finish herself. You so love to watch.

Rolling off to your left, your cock falls out of her warmth, and she whimpers at the loss. Laying on your side, facing her you softly command, "Roll over, I want to help you finish. I want to see your face when you come again."

She groans a little as she rolls onto her back, likely sore from being spanked and fucked so thoroughly. You reach down under her right leg and pull it up against your chest to give her better access. "Make yourself come for me. Look at me while you do it."

Allison turns her head to the side, her brown hair falls across her face. She takes a moment to push the hair from her eyes and looks up into yours as she lowers both hands to her center. She begins to work herself in earnest. She's close; it shouldn't take long. Her mouth falls slack as she falls over the edge. Her cheeks blush nearly as red has her ass had been after you spanked it. Her pupils dilate making her eyes appear a dark cobalt blue. Then her whole body shakes fiercely against yours and she fights hard to maintain eye contact.

"That's it, baby, come for me. You're so beautiful like this."

You kiss her as the tremors subside. Still in awe that she gives this side of herself to you. Every day you think you can't need her any more than you already do, then you make love to her like this and you realize you were wrong and you fall further. You are terrified at how much you need her now. You need her like you need air.

 _Goddamn, I am so fucked._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Thanks so much to everyone who responded to my request for feedback on this story! I felt so good about it I postponed moving the plot forward and instead just ended up writing lots of smut. As atavares said, the porn fairy dumped a whole can of fairy dust on this chapter. Oh well. Next chapter there will be some more substance._

 _I did my best to respond to all who allow it, but to those guests and those with messaging disabled, I was touched by your responses some of which really made me step back and allow myself to like my own writing. Sometimes, the more removed we get from canon, I feel like I am on the verge of losing the characters. Having perfect strangers assure me otherwise is a relief._

 _whitequeen73 - I love your comment, mainly because I guess I don't think of the BDSM parts of my stories as serious domination/submission play. I think/hope most sexually minded long term partners tease and mess around with some light bondage and maybe even some kinky things. I try to write them in that vein and I'm glad it doesn't come off as intimidating._

 _Robin - I was seriously really touched by what you wrote. Thank you for the high praise. I'll endeavor to keep up the standard._

 _Stephen Fry - What more can I say about your BFF except to say he's so inspiring to write naked over and over again. :P You want more and more you shall have._

 _If I missed anyone, not because I didn't love hearing from you. FF . net is just not the easiest to keep track of things on. So a big blanket thanks to everyone!_

 _Atavares thank you for keeping me from rushing past Chicago. You're always saving me from my worst ideas. And like-waves-on-the-beach, thank you again for swooping in and giving things a good once over. Six eyes are far better than two._


	20. The Game

**Chapter 20: The Game**

It's a beautiful night for a football game. It's warm enough that you don't need a jacket, but you do put on an unbuttoned white oxford over the green 'musketeers' t-shirt David lent you to help you 'blend in' with the local fans. Allison digs out an old box of clothes from the back of her closet finding a black long sleeve tee with the words "Drummers do it with rhythm." on the front over an outline of a snare drum. On the back, the phrase "Best Drumline, 1996 Chicago Regional Marching Band Championship" spans across the shoulders, with the names of the kids from the line below it. Her name is first since she was the section leader and center snare. It's too big for her, and completely adorable, though you'd never tell her you think that.

"I forgot just how oversized I used to wear my clothes. That was the 90's for you. All grunge, all the time." She takes a moment, debating to tuck or not, in the end deciding to tuck, so your view of her ass isn't compromised. Always so thoughtful.

"'Drummers do it with rhythm?'" you snicker at her. "You can stroke my stick in time anytime." You say with bravado and waggle your brows.

"Never gets old, does it?" she giggles at the old and worn out drummer jokes.

"Nope," you say with a pop to the p.

"Come on. We're going to be late. That shirt looks good on you." she winks. You look like a suburban dad. Totally not your style at all. But you've always been more of a conformist where sports are concerned.

The four of you ride together to the game in David's extended cab blue Dodge Ram. The women let you have the front seat, even though the back seat is roomier than the average car, but between your leg and the fact that David wanted to tell you all about this year's team, they were happy to concede the front to you. Not that getting into the front was any walk in the park. It was two steps up, so not exactly an easy task for a man with only one good leg, but you manage without complaint.

"This is a pretty bitchin truck," you tell David as you settle into the comfortable leather bucket seat and examine the cab. _Wonder if he'd ever consider converting it to a monster truck?_

You're still disappointed Allison and David have yet to have 'the talk'. They both are doing a good job of acting like nothing has ever been wrong, but both are master avoiders. It's a start at least. Maybe now she'll get on with picking a date for your wedding. It's still killing you that she always has an excuse. This should alleviate the last of them, now that she is on the new job and her and David seem in agreement about hubby choice number three, there shouldn't be any other reasons for her to not pick one.

Unless she has changed her mind about you as husband material.

Why the hell David would want his daughter with a guy like you over a nice guy like Chase is beyond you, but regardless of the distance that had grown between them in the last ten years, the man still understands who his daughter is. His acceptance of her relationship with you has nothing to do with liking or disliking her former fiancé or with liking or disliking you, for that matter. He knows she didn't get what she needed from Chase and he believes she is getting what she needs from you.

"So we think our fullback Jimmy Darin is going to be All-State again this year and will likely start this time. He might even be good enough to go pro after college if he stays healthy. Chris Jackson is an outstanding quarterback, he's only a sophomore but he's already maybe, top ten of anyone we've had at the position. He's got a great future. And his center is just a massive kid. Like a freight train. The running game's our weakness, but it's good enough."

"How's your defense?"

"Solid. No real super stars there, but the starting line is mostly seniors. They can read an offense and know each other really well. It's like a perfect storm this year, I think. After they graduate we'll lose all the experience, so it's now or who knows when. You play as a kid?"

"Not football. I was actually pretty good at lacrosse. Region Champs my senior year."

"Nice! I was the second-string quarterback all the way through my senior year and we sucked." He laughed, "We won one game that year and we partied our asses off afterward. You would have thought we won the state championship. But those were a bunch of great guys! Man the pranks we used to pull!"

"Now that was the best reason to play sports. Jocks get away with murder. I'm pretty sure that was the whole reason I joined the team. Just happened to work out that I ended up being pretty damn good. Coach said I was a natural athlete, that I ran like a thoroughbred."

As if on cue a pain runs up your right thigh and you rub it. Fucking infarction. Oh, and great, now everyone in the car is dead silent, because what do you say to the crippled athlete? "Yeah, no running now. But, hey, my third leg still works like a champ! So I guess I'm still worth something as a stud."

David snorts, glad you dispelled the awkward tension. "Enjoy it while it lasts. It's only downhill from 51. Just, please, spare me the details."

"Oh, now honey, I think it was all uphill this afternoon," Mary says cheekily and you hear Allison groan. "This is payback for something awful I did as a child, isn't it?"

"No, dear," Mary pats Allison's leg. "It's payback for the night before last… and this morning… and this afternoon."

"Hey! I don't want to know the details!" the turmoil on his face was fantastic. "Twice today? Seriously, man? You can still do that?" You open your mouth to fill him in on the ups and downs of middle-aged life and their effect on Little Greg but he interrupts before you can. "Shit! Don't answer that. Really _don't_ want to know." He totally envies your numbers but doesn't want to think about what that really means. Poor guy. It must be hard to have a grown up daughter when you know exactly what men want to do to women.

But you can't resist turning the knife a little. He did leave the door far too open for the likes of you to not barge right through. "You're the one that keeps getting us into these conversations. It's not like it's a secret that your new best buddy is the guy livin' in sin with your daughter. Your extremely hot daughter."

That earns you a light punch to the side of your shoulder and a dirty look. You snicker at his dilemma and he rolls his eyes. Mary chimes in from the backseat again. "Oh, David it's not like we don't know they have sex. They love each other. It's only natural that they have a healthy sex life. You remember how we were when we first got together."

A unison groan comes from David and Allison.

"And, Allison, if you're old enough to flaunt that healthy sex life in our home, you're old enough to accept your parents still enjoy a healthy one and don't plan on slowing down anytime soon."

"I accept it. I think it's all just _swell_ , but I don't want to have to hear details about it when it involves my father. A joke here and there's one thing, even the innuendos at the salon I can handle, but this in front of Dad thing is just getting too weird. He and I are in complete agreement on this one."

"Turn about is so incredibly satisfying!" you exclaim, rubbing your hands together quickly with a shit-eating maniacal grin plastered to your face. "Hot parent-sex talk isn't nearly as fun now, is it?"

"Shut up, House."

"In your dreams, Cameron."

* * *

The game is action-packed. David just about rips your arm off in his excitement. You find that excitement to be contagious and after a few great plays, you found yourself yelling and booing, riding the ups and downs of the team with the masses surrounding you.

About a quarter in, you lose your girlfriend to the band section.

To be fair, she asks you if you want to join her. But having already traversed the stands to nearly the top, which thankfully, being a high school stadium wasn't an incredible height, you aren't too excited about the idea of having to make your way back up. You turned down three offers for soft drinks already just to avoid having to go up and down to take a piss later in the game.

Good thing is, she gets it. She doesn't press, or give you a sad look, she just goes her way and leaves you to root on the team with her parents while she takes her stroll down memory lane. You figure if she really wants you to meet someone they can wait until after the game or they can come to you.

Allison waves up at you after she greets and hugs two surprised looking men. You raise your hand back and both nod before returning their attention to her. One looks early 40s, six foot, short dark hair. The other is around her age, a tall gangly ginger with a burly hipster beard. You expected her old director to be, well, old. But he is maybe 10 years older and rather _friendly_ with her. He motions for her to spin, and you wonder if she'd ever been around him with the dark hair before. He seems to get a laugh out of the shirt.

 _He totally just checked out her ass! Mother fucker._ Good thing all that sexy lipstick ended up on your cock so he can't think about wanting it on his. You might need to deal with these stairs if that sort of thing continues.

The younger man treats her more like another guy. They laugh, fake box, and do some sort of elaborate and multifaceted handshake/high-five ending in a laughing bear hug. Then he has her follow him to the stands where the band is. Director Dude walks behind them is still entirely checking her ass out.

 _Goddamn, be more obvious, I'm 20 rows up and I can see the drool._

 _Wonder if he looked at her like that back then? Maybe he gave her private lessons and stood behind her, making excuses to wrap himself around her to show her some new stroke_ …

Jesus, House, get it together! You know she didn't fuck him.

 _But he totally jerked off thinking about fucking her._

The team must have scored again, because suddenly everyone is standing and David is shaking you, screaming in your ear. To hell with the game, you can't let Director Dude put the moves on your woman. You robbed that cradle fair and square.

"I think I'm gonna go beat the rush on the bathrooms," you tell David and Mary.

David raises an eyebrow and looks down toward Allison. " _Sure_ you are."

You give furrow your brows and give him a questioning look.

Then Mary chimes in, "Nate's always had an eye for Allison. But when he first got the job here, being so young and nice looking he had to be extra careful to not give on any sort of signals to the girls. But, a few years after Al graduated, I ran into him and mentioned she'd run off and gotten married. He seemed disappointed. I asked Al about it and she said he was always very professional, but I am pretty sure he was hoping she'd end up moving back here to practice.

"So, you're saying I need to go kick his ass." You look to David. "That sword of yours, you don't happen to keep it in your truck do you?"

"No, but if you want to run back home and grab it, I'd be all too happy."

"David has never been fond of Nate. I just thought he liked to listen to the marching band, but I guess he always thought Nate was interested in more than Allison's musicianship. I've always thought he was harmless. He's a good band director."

"Oh, he seems innocent, but when he thought no one was looking he was always _looking_ at her…" David pauses and stares ahead for a moment looking perturbed as he thinks of the right word, settling on "inappropriately. So you better believe I went on every one of her band trips after I noticed. I was president of the damned band boosters for two years. Pissed Gabe off, because I hardly ever went to his shows, and he thought I was favoring Al."

He gets an odd look, like he's said too much. "Don't you dare tell her, either. I don't want her thinking that she got her position because Nate wanted in her pants. She was a very good player, but she was oblivious to that kind of shit at the time. A total tomboy who had no idea that she was hot. But those kids got half naked together to change into uniform every damned weekend, and he was there, always on _her_ bus… she couldn't play off her looks in nothing but underwear and a t-shirt, or in a bikini in the hotel swimming pool."

That imagery has you wishing you'd been her band director and your mind isn't stopping with looking either. And you remember your play stories with her and how much her father hates you in those fantasies for doing all the things that this guy most likely wanted to do but didn't. "It's so _wrong_ that you like me." You tell him, figuring he's smart enough to get where your brain just wandered off to.

David shrugs as if to say he has no explanation himself and Mary puts a hand to her mouth to try to cover up her amusement. Whatever, you don't have time to solve that puzzle right now. You need to go defend what's yours. "That's it. I'm going down there. I'm the only age-inappropriate, former authority figure getting in those pants."

It's an arduous trip back down the stands. Fucking leg. Half way down, you dig into your pocket and pull out a small bottle of ibuprofen, take three, before continuing on. Needless to say, between the jealousy and the pain you're not a happy person at the moment.

Finally, you reach track level, and make your way to the grandstand just to your right. The band is playing, what you assume is their fight song, since the team just kicked a successful field goal. As you reach the set of steps up to the first section, you look up and find Allison sitting behind a snare drum, playing with the kids. A pimpled faced blond kid is beside her watching every move. The drum break starts and she plays it like she'd just played it yesterday, right up until an elaborate sticking visual, which she just about nails but misses a catch and ends up laughing, a second later the tall ginger guy tosses her another stick. She catches it, twirls it and hits the next downbeat like she'd never missed a thing.

The kid gets a kick out of it, and is also totally checking her out. By the looks of all the testosterone in the current drum line, he's probably wishing one of the hotties from the clarinet section had decided to be different and play drums instead.

"Almost, Cameron. That's pretty good for, what is it now, 13 years removed?" Ginger Beard says with a grin once the fight song ends.

"You changed the order of the flares. I noticed it earlier, but I'm not as fast on the draw as I used to be. For all the times we played that damned thing, I don't think I'd miss it 80 years removed."

"Oh, I forgot it changed! That's right. That was so long ago, I didn't even think about it."

"I think you've made the year for our Rodney." Director Dude chimes in, with a flirtatious wide smile. "He's got the '96 show memorized. You're his hero. Can't say as I blame him. You are quite worthy of worship."

"I don't know about that."

"I do. Your line was amazing. It was so tight! I keep trying to beat it into these knuckleheads, but they are a bunch of lazy SOBs. No practice ethics." The kid, you assume is the aforementioned Rodney, adds, with stars in his eyes for her and a playful condemnation for his section. So… it's less he wants to _do_ her and more he wants to _be_ her… and probably also do her. Who doesn't want to do her? At least he's not oozing desire like some assholes.

She hands him back his sticks and moves from behind his drum. "Just show up and play your part better every day and never ask for more or less than that from them. If they love it enough, that's all you need to do to lead. If they don't love it, you can't fix that with force, so don't kill yourself trying. Besides, they sound fine."

"Fine is not an acceptable goal," Rodney says, obviously some quote he's picked up.

"Now you sound like Mr. Jones." She turns and winks at Director Dude, and it feels like your ears are on fire.

He looks seriously at the kid. "Don't let her fool you, Rodney. Cameron had them running laps every day."

"Me?! That was all because those guys were the biggest bunch of goofballs on the face of the planet! _You_ ordered the laps. I followed orders."

"But you enjoyed it. You could have been a great drill sergeant." Director Dude taunts her again playfully. Still smiling his fucking Colgate smile with his blue eyes sparkling at her. He obviously enjoys getting a rise from her. Another thing that's your gig and not his.

Enough of this. "There's no 'could have been' she is a great drill sergeant. She rides me hard every night to perfect my sticking technique and if I don't perform to her expectations she makes sure I'm _thoroughly_ punished."

Jones shoots you a dirty look, for your loudly proclaimed innuendos. The flute section, who are sitting just behind the percussionists were half paying attention to the guest of their directors and your comments have some of them giggling and the others mortified, save one girl who just looks confused. Her neighbor whispers something in her ear, and her eyes widened and her face blushes.

Well, if nothing else comes from this display, you at least got to destroy a little bit of naivety.

"This is him?" Director Dude asks Allison, thumbing in your direction.

"That's him. Nate Jones I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Greg House." Jones jumps over the bench in front of him and thrusts out a hand. A challenge. You take his hand and regret it, thanks to your fight. You squeeze, but so does he and the tender bruised flesh shoots pain up your arm. You wince, despite your best effort and he glances down and notices your wounded hand."

Pulling back, with some sincerity he says, "Sorry, man, didn't know you were injured or I would have been more gentle." But of course, he's still treating you like competition. "You in an accident or something? What's with the bruising and the limp."

You don't break eye contact. "Bar fight. Allison's dad and I had to defend the honor of the Stones. Leg's just my way of getting sympathy sex from all the hot babes."

He looks more than a little put off by your loud declaration. "You might watch your mouth around the students."

You puft and roll your eyes and head dramatically. "Please, I'm sure they've had sex education. If not in school, then in the back of the band bus. I did see American Pie, so I know what happens at band camp."

He shakes his head in disbelief at your lack of giving two shits about how you act in front of his students. "That's a real interesting choice, Cameron."

"Takes some time, but he'll grow on you." She tells him and you smile, open your mouth for a witty and perverted retort but she intervenes "Don't even go there. Or I might _stop_ playing drill sergeant with you."

You pout but are thoroughly amused with the look her comment has put on the faces of the two men and boy beside her. There's more giggling from the other drummers and flute section. Seems the banter providing them with far more interesting entertainment than the ball game.

"Shoot. We have to go get ready for the halftime show." Jones says mostly to himself, though in part the statement is also an apology to Allison.

"It's all good. I've been looking forward to it all night. It's the only reason I let Dad drag me out for a football game. You know how much I hate sports."

"Oh, I remember." He winks, and they share a smile and obviously some sort of inside joke.

"Look, if I don't see you again later… I'm really glad you stopped by. I've missed you. I always thought you'd be one of those students who comes back to visit once or twice a year. Maybe shows up to a show."

"Yeah, life sort of ran away with me."

"That's how it goes. And far too fast." She hugs him and he hugs back. You glare, and she looks up at you just as you do, and gives you a questioning look, then rolls her eyes at your jealous reaction.

"Band! Ah-ten-hut!" He yells and they scrabble to stand up to attention. "We need to gather behind the home end zone! You know the drill. Line up like we practiced. First full run, so keep sharp! If you forget your place, just remember to keep your neighbors in your periphery and you'll at least not be too far off the mark. And tonight was the memorization deadline! If a see a lyre out there, you can give me ten laps on Monday. You have two minutes to zip up, drop the music, and get your hats on. Then, make your way to the end zone."

The students relax and get to work readying themselves for the field. The horn players begin to file out toward the end zone a few at a time. The pitched percussion, who were hanging out at track level are loading themselves onto a flatbed attached to a tractor with all their instruments. The drum line is lining up on the track, 4 rows deep — cymbals, snares, toms, and bass drums. Once in line, Hero Worship Kid plays four hard rim shots. The group grunts in time and snap to full attention.

"Mr. Rodney!" Jones yells as he walks by them. Rodney, gives four more hard rim shots and the line springs into action, playing their cadence and marching as a unit to join the rest of the band. You fucking hate the military mentality. Something like this would make you want to jump off a cliff. But it somehow seems just right for Allison.

Speaking of, all the distraction with the band and you aren't sure where she's wandered off too. Before you can turn around to look, her hands are covering your eyes. She must be standing on the stair behind you because she is far too tall as she whispers directly into your ear. "Guess who?"

"Um, Angelina?"

She licks your ear in a really unsexy way. "Nope. But you can have the consolation prize."

"That's fine. The consolation prize has a much better ass."

"I have a surprise for you, but it has to wait until after the band plays."

"You're going to show me how well you double on skin flute?"

"I think you know that already. So what the hell was up with all the ape shit and posturing with Jones?"

"Jones wants in your pants. Problem is your pants are my pants now."

"Seriously. You and my father just need to take a chill pill. Jones has never once put the moves on me."

"When you're not looking, he most certainly is."

"Him and every other not fully gay male I've ever been around. What's your point?"

What was your point? Dammit, she has you there.

"Look. I didn't expect Director Dude to be…"

"Hot? Dreamy? Fuckalishious?"

"So help me, I will beat you and him with this cane."

"Look, so he's not that old and he's hot? It'd be like dating Gabe. You know he was a senior when Gabe was a freshman? They were in the sax section together here in high school. Jones has known me since I was a kid. He went out of his way to not flirt with the girls in the band. Made us all call him Mr. Jones rather than Nate, even though most of us knew him from before he got the job. He's only now comfortable enough around me to be openly flirtatious. Dad just remembers how he was before he grew up."

"Nothing you just said makes me feel any better about him. In fact, I hate him even more for being an idiot and not living out the kinds of teacher/student fantasies we joke about."

"But you're forgetting the most important part. I don't and never have wanted to fuck him. Besides Reggie would get pissed at me if I did."

"Who's Reggie? Girlfriend? He wasn't wearing a ring."

"That's because they're in the closet because of their jobs and even if they weren't they can't get married legally in Illinois. Reggie is the tall redhead."

"Nooooo. They are so _not_ gay."

"You're losing your touch. All that jealousy makes you miss the obvious. To be fair, they're both bi and, until each other, both of them leaned more toward women. But I guess all that hot sweaty man-sex they had at band camp turned into love."

"Fuck, that's even worse. They're recruiting you to make a hot sweaty Allison sandwich."

"Don't do anything stupid. Please. There's seriously nothing going on and I promise the only bisexual love sandwich I'll be the meat of will involve you and Wilson."

"Pft. Seriously. I'd be the meat in that sandwich."

"The very hot meat. Now, I'm going to go to the top to watch the show. I know your leg's hurting so you don't need to come with. I'll be down as soon as it's over and give you the surprise."

* * *

The surprise was a tour of her high school. Reggie lent her his keys and the two of you seem to have the whole place to yourselves for a while. At least until after the game.

"So this is the band room. It's not changed that much, sadly. Looks like the school would still rather toss money at shitty sports teams than anything arts-related."

"Sports are exciting and even if you don't know anything about them, everyone understands kicking the shit out of someone else. It's in our DNA. The arts require a brain. An informed one at that and we both know people, in general, are idiots."

She, nods and takes your hand pulling you toward a large display case in the back of the room. "And this is where we apply the sports' mentality to arts so we can get any funding at all." She winks and you look over the collection of trophies and images in the case. In the center, you see a large trophy and an image of a group of kids making silly faces and poses. Allison is there with a cymbal held over her head, and her hands in a prayer pose in front of her. Obviously an Asian reference there.

"I can't believe you'd be that racist."

"Hey, look, the guy holding the cymbal's Korean."

"And you're oppressing him. Very unlike you." Damn, she was adorable.

"So… you wanna see the biology lab?" she asks slyly and you slowly tear your eyes from the picture in the case to meet hers. Still adorable. And sexy.

"Lead the way, Ms. Cameron. Your behavior calls for some after school detention. You can write 'I will not be a prick-tease to my teacher.', 100 times on the board. Then you can take care of the mess your teasing makes in my pants." You wink and she pirouettes and walks to the door, leaving you to follow.

It's a trip down a long hallway with lockers on all sides and doors every 15 to 20 feet. Then a right into a stairwell. "Sorry, this school was built before elevators were mandatory. The only one is added on in the gym and requires a key to unlock after hours."

You walk up the flight without complaint, though your pain is on a slow uptick since you had to climb into David's truck. Fuck the pain, you are eager to have a real classroom to enhance your fantasy. At the top of the stairs, you take another right into the first doorway. She flips on a light, and you walk into a classroom with an odd combination of block walls and makeshift partition walls with doors. She takes the door on the right through one of the partitions into another classroom. A biology lab. There are high tables and sinks along the wall with dissection trays stacked up on the counter beside them. It smells a bit of formaldehyde.

There's a desk on the far wall, with a bookshelf to the left and another door on the right. "This place has a weird layout."

"Yeah. It was built in the early 70's and there was this whole theory that open classrooms were the wave of the future. That overhearing other lessons in the background during yours would somehow get all the information into your brain by osmosis."

"Well, that's what happens when the hippies grow up and get jobs in architecture."

"Yeah. Beyond the fact, that's just a dumb idea in general, who the hell thinks a bunch of teenagers aren't going to be tossing paper wads into the next classroom more often than they are paying attention to any of the lectures? I guess by the 80s they gave up on it and built these walls. So now it's just an ugly fire marshal's nightmare, but at least you can't hear the lecture behind and to the side of you."

Walking forward, you make your way across the room to stand behind the desk. She takes a seat at the front table. You try to imagine yourself standing here, in your 30s teaching a classroom full of AP geek students. And how one of those students' looks at you like a piece of meat. It's different than you'd pictured it, but this will be what you'll imagine from now on. This is how she imagines it and that makes it all the more fun for you.

You run a finger over the counter high black desktop. On top of it's a jar containing a fetal pig. You confess, "This is nothing like how I imagined this room to be. But I hear orgasms have been tied to long-term memory storage, so if you wanna make sure I don't forget the scene, maybe you should show my just how badly you want an A little girl."

She scoots back and stands. Sauntering to the head of the class she maneuvers between you and the desk and looks up into your eyes. "I always make A's Mr. House. Maybe, this time I'm shooting for a big, fat, D."

She backs you against the white board and puts a hand on your crotch to drive home the point. Unfortunately, you are starting to get the feeling that Little Greg has decided he's finished working for the day.

 _C'mon dude. I just defended your honor. This is her actual biology lab. All we are missing here is a uniform and a ruler to spank her with._ You plead to your cock, while you put yourself in character as the reluctant teacher, who is still not sure he wants to cross the line.

You give her a timid caged animal look and stay planted against the board, the marker rail, jammed uncomfortably into your backside. To prevent yourself from touching her you latch hands to that rail on either side of you but allowing her to continue touching you through your jeans. "Being so young, Allison, you may not know how hard a big fat D is to swallow."

Her eyes are amused, but her face remains serious. "I've never had an F before either, and I think every girl should experience receiving one from a hard teacher." She's perfect… well, almost. Her hair is all wrong.

And what's up with your cock? _I can't believe you're abandoning me at a time like this._ You mentally sigh at your penis. Maybe if you think of something witty to say you can extend the game long enough to extend your cock, because, wrong hair color aside, you wanna play this game. Unfortunately, your leg is still hurting, making it much harder to stay focused on things that will make you hard.

Her hand is rubbing your sleeping prick through the front of your jeans. After a few moments, you shrug. Her look turns to a question, and you tell her "I'm trying hard to think of something dirty GPA could stand for, but I'm coming up about as blank as my dick. Maybe I _should_ have taken a dose of your dad's Viagra."

She takes her hand from your crotch, instead stroking your bearded cheek. "You must be hurting because you whit is off tonight. 'Great pussy and ass' would work."

Leaning into her soft touch, you plant a light kiss where her hand and wrist meet. "You do have those." You tuck her hair behind her left ear. "Between the pain from climbing so many stairs and two rounds of incredibly hot sex, I don't think I'm going to be able to make this fantasy happen tonight. Despite the rumors, I'm not really The Almighty." Your hand lingers in her hair to roll the ends of a few strands between your thumb and fingers. "Now I kinda wish you'd waited to change your hair. You weren't a brunette in high school."

She steps forward and raises both arms up and around your neck, arms crossing and the wrists as she tiptoes up to kiss you softly. Pulling back she sighs, "I guess I did sort of botch the timing. But I had no idea we'd be taking this little tour. Not that I regret it, because your reaction this afternoon was so very much worth it."

You smile at her. It's your real smile — the one not many people get to see — and put your hands on her hips, willing yourself to forget about the pain. You've had worse. It's just frustrating as hell to never be without it when you're off opiates. Like so many times over the course of the last 11 years, you will forward, convincing yourself it's not so bad. To be fair, it's been better lately. Maybe it's the recent lack of intense pain making the current ache acuter.

"Next time we visit, you'll have to go back blonde. And get a uniform. I think with a little more planning this could be totally amazing."

"Deal." She takes your hand and leads you to a stool, having you sit. She finds a shorter chair against the wall, and puts it in front of your right leg and sits. Her hands begin to work her magic, even through the fabric. As the throbbing dulls, you begin to feel guilty for tricking her. For getting hammered. But it worked, so you suppose it's all fine, so long as she's not still angry.

Breathing a long sigh of relief you ask, "So, you finally not mad at me?"

"Greg, I…" She pushes a little harder as she tries to formulate her words. With an exhale, she stops and sits back, looking up into your eyes.

"I love you, but I don't know what to do with you sometimes." She pauses again. Her eyes dart to the side for a moment then back to yours. "It's no secret you're the kinda person who, when they feel too much outside pressure to do a thing, does the opposite, even if it scorches the Earth in the process. But, knowing that, you decided to ask _me_ to own _your_ sobriety." She looks away again and crosses her arms. "I foolishly accepted, because I can't say no to you. But, how can I do that for you?" She finds your eyes once more. "You've placed me in a position that forces me to handle you in a way that I know doesn't work for you. At least not that I've ever seen. And when you fail, I'm damned if I get mad and damned if I don't."

She stands and walks around the chair and approaches the white board. She looks around for a marker, finding none, she turns and leans against the board with a sigh. "I had every right to get mad at you for tricking me. But, then I get to feel like shit because you decided the only way to deal with my asking you for some space, was to go out and get tanked."

You hadn't considered how much your actions would hurt her. It's not in your nature to consider things like that when you're frustrated. Sure, you could do it. But you resented her being angry at you for trying to help. Even if it was a shitty plan, you had the right motivation. Well, even that's kind of a lie. You are motivated to make sure she has no excuses left to not plan your wedding. It's a step closer to maybe never having to be alone again.

As if she's read your mind, she continues. "And, to make matters worse, going out and getting smashed got you what you wanted, because Dad showed up and somehow the two of you bonded. So, my getting mad about that part too, only makes me seem more like the bad guy, and you the smart-ass anti-hero. And all the while the devil on your shoulder tells you how great it was that you got drunk and did something right."

She walks up to you again, standing between your legs. Looking down on you, she plays with your hair, thoughtfully. You pull her into an embrace. She pushes back gently and looks at your seriously. "How can I not be worried about something like this being a step back to your old life? I'm less mad at you and more afraid for you… for us. You're an addict. There isn't going to be some magical moment that you 'win' at sobriety. You have to fight for it every day if you want it. Only you can do that. I'll be there with you, but I can't do that part for you, and that's the one part that matters most."

"I'm sorry. I know it's not fair. It was working for me. I just…"

"It _was_ working until you decided it _didn't_ work. That's exactly what I mean, Greg. I am totally fine taking the decision away from you if that's what you really believe will work. If you need me to assign you a number of drinks then be a bitch if you won't stop, fine. If you need me to remove all the booze from the house, not drink if front of you, kick Wilson's ass if he does, have random drug searches of our house and your office, whatever you think you need me to do, I'll gladly do it. I want you to be healthy. I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy.

"But you have to understand it's emotional blackmail, if every time I'm more than a little mad at you, I find out you've crawled into a bottle somewhere. How are we ever supposed to work as equals in this if I can't be mad at you for fear you'll get smashed or pop a few Vicodin if I make you sleep at Wilson's for the night? Or if I go to a friend's to brood and get some space? I hate you can't have a day here and there to get a buzz with some friends. But that's how addiction works. I can't just own _your_ sobriety and consider the addiction fixed. It doesn't work that way."

"You're right. I want this to work. Maybe, maybe you can just tell when I'm being an ass about it."

"Yeah, because when you're being one you are so open to criticism."

"Okay. Then tell me if you feel my asshole-who-needs-a-fix starting to engage. Then give me an 'I told you so', in the middle of my hangover the next day."

"So be Wilson?"

You nod. "But sexier. And more naked. Maybe involve some leather, whips, and six inch heeled knee high boots."

With a mirthful half grin, she shakes her head. "I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, you can do me. Just give me until tomorrow morning."

 _Notes:_

 _So I had a nice vacation last week in London. The weather was so nice I came back with a tan. :) - Thanks to whatever forces made that work out. I needed that vacation like nobody's business. It was my first trip to the UK. Loved every second of it._

 _Next chapter might be slow again, just because of the whole week off thing. But rest assured it's coming. (Feel free to assume I mean the double entendre there.) Thanks again to all of you for reading and reviewing!_

 _As always a huge Hugh thanks to atavares for her beta duties. She saves me some embarrassing typos yet again!_


	21. The Wrath of Pox

_NOTES: Hey there! I know it's seemed like forever, but it's not from a lack of our working on the story. There were some big decisions to make for things moving forward from here so that all had to be sorted out before we could get out this chapter. Atavares has been a super beta as always helping me get the details all sorted out. :)_

 _So this has spoilers for A Pox on Our House. I didn't follow every scene like I have done on some stories in the past. I figure you have all seen it, but it might be a good idea to review it if you care about some of the details that I figure wouldn't change much are skipped over in favor of telling my version of the story. Any dialog from that is obviously not mine._

 _Also, there is some play on Spock's death scene from The Wrath of Kahn in here as well. I have always assumed House and Cameron are Star Trek fans and I couldn't resist the similarities with the setting in this story. So if for some reason, I can't fathom, since that is the best movie ever, you haven't seen that you really should. If not, you might not get the reference and wonder what the hell they are talking random gibberish about. :P You can see I played off this in the title as well._

 _Hope you all enjoy! The next few chapters will be a ride. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 21: The Wrath of Pox**

Another case solved. All it took, in the end, was telling a little white lie to Cuddy. She'll never be the wiser. Besides, she got her result. At the end of the day, the result is all that matters. Your reward for being a brilliant bad ass, yet again? Leaving work early and taking a swim in your pool. It's nice to get more laps in while it's still warm, another month or so and you'll have to start going back to the gym.

You don't even bother going to your room to get in swimming trunks. Who needs trunks in a private pool? Certainly not you.

"God, I love this!" you say to yourself as you surface from jumping in and float on your back. The water is warm thanks to a sunny day. All you need now…

Swimming to the edge of the pool, you reach for the pants you discarded a couple of feet from the edge. You dry your hands on the leg and fish around in the pocket for your phone. Finding it you text Allison, _Come home. The water is warm and Little Greg's feeling frisky after my case._

No more than 20 minutes later a naked Allison is cannonballing into the deep end.

Having a pool, in a private yard, must be the biggest perk of your new home. Or rather it creates the ability to have the biggest perk — fucking Allison while standing in the pool, naked, in broad daylight. You revel in the way her body shakes against yours as you press her front to one of the circulation jets, lining her clit up perfectly for the onslaught of water. You enter her from behind; her legs bend up at the knees on either side of your legs. Her reduced weight is supported by your arms, which you slide under her armpits, holding onto the side of the pool.

It takes next to no time for her to get off on the water stream. You don't even have to thrust, opting to simply remain pushed as far inside of her as the position will allow. The way her inner walls clamp down on your cock as she has a hard orgasm is magnificent. She fights to get away as she peaks, but you hold her against the jet so she must endure. She screams with the second crest. You don't care if the neighbors hear. It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last.

You begin moving inside her as the third wave overtakes her. She's practically seizing from coming so hard. The water around you gets warmer, and you know you've made her spray this time around.

Your dick is so sensitive you can feel every ridge and fold of her flesh against its head. Pulling a limp and sated Allison away from the jet and your cock, you turn her, wrap her legs around you and press her back to the wall of the pool, then slam back inside her again and again until you see white and go slack against her.

Laying back, you pull her with you and float from the edge, basking in the ease the pool gives you to stand and fuck her.

"That was intense," she sighs as she clings to your floating form. "Mrs. Birch is going to give me more dirty looks for that one, I'm sure."

"She's just jealous. If anyone needs a little me time with a water jet, it's that stuck up broad."

"Yeah. I few orgasms could go a long way there. Never understood why some women are so weird about sex and masturbation. Honestly, we get to have multiple orgasms, you'd think people would want to capitalize on that."

"Do you masturbate a lot when I'm not around?"

"I'd assume no more than you."

"Maybe if I were still 30 that'd be true. Demand for production is so high these days, I am afraid to waste too many loads on my hand. But, if he's up and you aren't around, might as well get a few strokes in." You pause for a moment, remembering your last real relationship. "Stacy used to hate that."

"Why?"

"Well, after the newness wore off, and we weren't fucking like bunnies every day or two, sometimes she'd come in from work late and horny, but I might have just wacked off in the shower or to porn or something and not be able to get it right back up. She thought it meant I'd stopped enjoying sex with her. But really, I just like to masturbate. It's different from sex. It just happens to use the same appliance."

"I totally get it. Sometimes I don't want the tension and the surprise and everything else that sex is. Sometimes, I just like getting myself off and not having to focus on what that means for someone else."

"Exactly! It's so fucking cool you think that. And honestly, it's fucking hot knowing you fuck yourself. It also gives me a puzzle to solve. Did she masturbate in her office today? Maybe in our bed, while I was asleep beside her? How can I tell? Should I put in surveillance? Hmm… That's…"

She pulls back from you, treading water a few feet away so she can look you in the eye. "Greg, if you video me fucking myself without my knowledge, I will not be a happy camper and so you will not be a happy camper. Just putting that out there so we don't have any doubt if it happens later."

You move closer and tease, "But with your knowledge?"

"Maybe," she answers with a smirk.

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah. You love anything to do with porn," she laughs and splashes you.

Wiping your face and spitting out water you agree. "That too." Then join her in a playful water fight. Yes, your pool is definitely one of the coolest things about your new home.

* * *

The next day you get called into work early. You wouldn't have even answered the text, but Cuddy texted Allison instead. _Ask him if a possible case of smallpox is worth getting out of bed early_.

If that's not cool, and totally worth missing out on morning sex, you aren't sure what is. So you are up with Allison for the first time since her new job and catch a ride with her into work. Of course, at 7:30 am no one on your team is there yet, so you figure you can peruse the case files in the meantime.

It's a fascinating case. Kids scuba diving to an old shipwreck in the Bahamas find a jar with skin samples from a group of infected slaves — old-school inoculations. Girl breaks said jar, cuts hand and gets infected samples from the jar in her wounds. According to the information on the ship and the symptoms, there is actually a strong case to be made for smallpox.

 _Fuck, life is so cool sometimes!_ Well, your life is cool, poor kid might be fucked, but you can't control that part, so no harm in acknowledging your luck. This is like the holy grail of infectious disease and up until now, you've only seen it in textbooks.

Israel, China, and Africa are on it by 8:00, none of them believing it is an actual case of smallpox. Australia hasn't made it into work, _must be in a different timezone or something_. While the United Nations is off doing tests, you spend the morning studying the case, making some phone calls, and manage to get your hands on the shipwreck's captain's log. Unfortunately, the fun ends as Cuddy barges into your office. "House, I need you in the clinic. Now. You owe me double hours."

Glancing up, you wonder for a moment why she is busting your chops after giving you the most awesome case ever. Then it hits you. "Damn, you know."

She raises an eyebrow. "Of course I know. You lied about the test. You had four hours, now you have eight."

"But, you just gave me the case of the century." You tilt your head, and grab your chin in mock contemplation. "Let's see… runny noses or smallpox… damn, it's such a hard choice."

She smiles her 'don't fuck with me' smile, steps forward, and leans forward on your desk. "Do I look like a boss who gives two shits? Just get your hours in, Mick. You know how the song goes. I don't have to remind you of that which you know so well."

Sniffing back crocodile tears, you whine. "You're a cold and heartless…"

"Careful House," she interjects and stands upright, "or I'll hand it over to Samson. He's really eager to prove he's every bit the doctor you are. And he takes more than one case at a time."

"You wouldn't." You challenge, with a head tilt and squint of the eyes. "Samson's an idiot."

"Well, I guess you'd better get your hours in if you want to ensure your patient gets the best care."

With that Cuddy spins on her five-inch heels and saunters off, leaving you to wonder how such a lovely ass got attached to a cold and heartless she-devil.

There's only one thing to do at this point. Pulling out your phone you text Wilson. _What I need is more important than what you are doing._

* * *

Wilson frowns, hands on his hips as he stares you down from just inside your office door. "Seriously, you have a team. What the hell is wrong with sending one of them?" He waves dramatically toward the conference room.

You look at Wilson like he's from Mars. "I can't send them. They are trying desperately to prove to me this isn't really a case of smallpox. Of course, they're going to fail, because it's _totally_ smallpox. Giving them the chance to fail, yet again, is what makes me a great teacher. And it's way more important than whatever cancer kid you are trying to save. You already know for sure they have cancer and cancer isn't half as cool as smallpox."

"Dammit, House. I don't have time for this." He turns and storms off, and you hear, in the distance, his ranting continue. "What an ass! I can't believe I…"

"Well, that didn't work." You mutter to yourself as you begin to read over your email and consider the possibilities. There's a message from The Sperm and Embryo Bank of New Jersey. You smile. It's going to be a great gag gift for Allison's birthday! Hell, who knows, maybe it could actually come (oh, yes you mean that pun) in handy at some point. Mostly you want something funny to give her at her party since you gave her the drums early. You figure after the teasing over vacation, a few samples of your baby makers will do nicely as gift number two. Even found a penis card at Spencer's to stuff with the confirmation letter.

 _Man, life is so good._ You read over the email. Seems they are willing to collect your sample from the PPTH lab and will store it for up to ten years. They've already faxed the documents to the lab. Very considerate of them to make it easy for you. Now you just have to go do the deed. Beating your meat sure as hell beats doing clinic hours. The only downside is not being able to ask Allison to help you.

Less than 15 minutes later you find yourself in a private room next to the 3rd-floor lab. Porn's on the flat screen and Little Greg is in your hand, you pull up a naked picture of Allison on your phone as well. Can't have too many stimuli during this procedure.

You weren't joking with Allison. It's been awhile since you jerked off not as a part of having sex with her. Of course, it's like riding a bike and it doesn't take long for you to fill the jar. Pleased with your excellent execution and the volume of your load, you screw on the lid and zip up.

"Don't fuck this sample up." You tell the lab nurse as you hand it off. "Could have the next Einstein or Mick Jagger in there."

She rolls her eyes. "Believe me, Dr. House, I'll make sure this doesn't get mixed up. Heaven forbid some unsuspecting woman is accidentally forced to birth your evil spawn." She hands you a confirmation letter, which has all the information Allison will need if she ever did decide to use your 'gift'.

"Evil _genius_ spawn." You correct her as you read the paper and walk out. Satisfied with it, you fold it and stick it in your breast pocket.

Now, what the hell are you going to do about clinic duty? Certainly not do it. _Man, the look on Allison's face is going to be…_ Oh, yeah, maybe she would help you out. She loves you, and it _is_ for smallpox.

* * *

"Come on, Allison, I'll pay you back in oral sex. You don't want me to have to make that offer to Foreman, do you? He's probably twice the size of Wilson, and I only barely manage to take all of him."

Not bothering to look up from her paperwork, she answers you as she writes. "You're smart and love to solve problems, so I think you can figure it out. I can give you some pointers on how to open your throat properly. Or… there's always Chase."

"Much smaller, I take it?" You ask and sit on the edge of her desk and lean over her work, like a cat demanding attention.

She sighs and sits back, tossing her readers to the desk as she does. "One way for you to find out."

"You'd like to see that."

"God yes." She leans in and looks up at you with a smirk. "And, maybe for that price, I'd go do your hours."

"But… smallpox!" you whine, standing up and stomping like a stubborn five-year-old. "Besides, you should be champing at the bit to get a dress rehearsal at being a Dr. House. I mean, it's almost like you don't want to be Dr. House."

"You aren't going to leave me alone until I give in, are you?"

"Nope."

"Christ. Fine. I can do some later this afternoon. But not before then. I have a lecture this morning and some patient appointments after lunch. Masters can do my 3:00 rounds. That's the best you're gonna get, so take it or leave it."

"Deal."

"I still expect oral sex." She says seriously as she begins to write again. You smirk.

A knock comes from her door. You shout out crassly, "Quick, put your clothes back on and take it out of your mouth. God, you are a hungry little… "

"Come in. It's safe." She yells over you.

"Dr. Cameron," Masters greats her boss warmly, then shoots you a dirty look and delivers a curt "Dr. House." before ignoring you to make her report, standing at the front of the desk like a good little soldier. "I went through the records for Ms. Burman but didn't see anything that might explain the rash. I ordered more tests. The full list is in my notes. Was there anything else you needed me to do this morning? If not, I thought I might get some hours in with the ER. I still have a laundry list of procedures to check off, and the ER always seems to have plenty of opportunities."

"This looks good," Allison tells her as she flips through the pages of the file. "I need you to fill in for me during my rounds at three. Other than that, feel free to work on your list." She closes the file and places it on a stack at the corner of her desk.

You smile and walk up to Masters, with a saccharine sweet tone you tell her, "You know, I'd be happy to let you do my clinic hours this week and I bet there are a ton of little things you could put big fat check marks by. In fact, I'd be more than willing to sign off on a few extras if you make sure to sign in as me and wear my name badge."

She looks truly mortified at the suggestion. Her eyes squint at you incredulously. "You mean lie about who I am to the patients and lie about my requirements for graduation?"

Shrugging you clarify, "Well, less to the patients and more on the charts and the work log. And, from what our Mistress tells me, you're already more than qualified. A few little checkmarks shouldn't define your ability to do the job. It's just bureaucratic red tape."

"Beyond my moral objections to lying, that's illegal." Masters crosses her arms defiantly.

You roll your eyes and wave your free hand, "Oh, come on. The best rules are made to be broken. Besides, doctor's trade hours all the time."

"The keywords there being 'trade hours' as opposed to 'impersonate one another'." Masters comes back.

Allison sighs, "House stop trying to corrupt my intern and go work on your all-important case of smallpox."

Feigning fear you hide behind Masters, putting your hands on her upper arms holder her between you and Allison and say over her shoulder, "Uh, oh. She called me House. Looks like I'm going to get disciplined when I get home."

Masters smacks a hand away and whips around. "She _should_ discipline you more; you're completely out of control. Wait a second, did she say you had a case of smallpox?"

Finally being serious you give her the short version. "My team thinks no. I think yes. Test came back negative for varicella and measles. Taub thinks her blood work suggests some other infection, but she's been diving recently and under all that pressure everything in the blood gets scared, panics, runs, and hides." Of course, you can't resist trying to get under her skin a little more. "And you sound rather comfortable with the idea of discipline. Your name is Masters… Do you have a boyfriend? If not I hear Chase's Tuesdays are open, and he likes a little…"

Allison, who has gotten up to file some paperwork, smacks your ass with it as she passes for that comment, and you jump a bit, turning and sticking your tongue out. Masters shoots back "That's none of your business."

The wheels turning in her mind, obviously, you've hooked her. She opens her mouth ready to lay a barrage of questions about your case. "Ah, ah, ah. I can't play with you right now. Mistress says I have to go to work and that I'm not allowed to corrupt you."

Just as you're about to top off your dick move by leaving, Cheng storms into the office. "We found pustules behind her knee. You were right. Taub called in the CDC."

* * *

Your team found a rash. Damn. You thought you had won the lottery. CDC Dude, who flew in Mission Impossible style doesn't think it matters. You're less prone to believe in coincidence. Only question now is, what is it? Suddenly, you have a puzzle almost as good as getting to see smallpox first hand.

Almost.

Well, better for the girl and her family anyway. You're not so heartless that you'd wish death on her for the chance to see it.

Your team is worse than useless right now. Not one of them seems to give a rats ass about what she has now that the CDC has swooped in and stolen your fun. To punish Taub for jumping the gun and calling the CDC and, since you're all locked up with nothing to do, you decide to make him go be you in the clinic for a few hours.

Foreman lost interest and is reading the paper. Chase hasn't been at work long enough to have any interest, even though he managed to get in by 9:00. Cheng, at least, seems to be mulling the problem over as she works on catching up your charting. She has been almost as useful in that regard as Cameron had been. Now if she would just come up with a Cameron grade idea.

You did manage to get a PDF of the Captain's log from the Maritime Museum in Bermuda. Problem is, it's in Dutch. Of course, it'd be a language you don't speak fluently. Other than knowing how to ask to have sex with someone's sister and a handful of other useful phrases to get oneself into a fight, or a bathroom, you don't speak Dutch at all.

Calling into the conference room, you ask "Any of you speak Dutch?" To which you only get confused glances and are ignored again. Maybe, Allison's super-genius speaks a few languages that you don't. If not, there's always the European sex chat sites.

Wandering to the ER, which you haven't been to for a while, you reach over the counter of the nurses' station to steal a sucker for old time's sake. "Hey, long time no see." A familiar voice calls to you.

Looking up, you see Rebecca. "No reason to for me to be slumming it these days. I heard you put in your notice and started classes."

"Yep, two more days and I'm officially just a full-time student again. Decided you were right. Now or never I suppose." She shrugs and tucks the clipboard she is carrying to her chest as she leans against a desk.

Ripping the cover from the confection, you pop it in your cheek and ask "You coming to the party?"

"Of course. So, what brings you down here? I'm sure it's not to ask about me and I can't imagine the quality of our suckers are that much greater than the ones on your floor."

"Nope. I'm looking for Allison's minion."

"Oh, the one with a stick up her ass?"

"I knew it wasn't just me."

"Bed 12."

"Thanks."

"No problem. See ya tomorrow."

You nod and head off toward bed 12.

Throwing the curtain back dramatically, you announce to a shocked Masters and her topless patient "You wanted to play with the big kids. I'm here to see if you know the secret password. I'll give you a hint. It's in here." You shove the print out of the log in her face. Still shocked, she apologizes to the patient who is pulling up her hospital gown, obviously embarrassed to have her boobs fly free in front of you.

"What is this? Is it in Dutch?"

"Oh, goodie. You get at least some bonus points for language recognition. Question is, do you speak it well enough to translate that?" You poke at the papers with your cane.

"I know German. But that's not going to get us very far."

"Same here. Damn. Oh, well. Sex-chat it is." You grab the document back from her, turn and stalk away. You glance at your watch. Allison should be starting her lecture soon, you can use her office. Too bad you already made your sperm donation. A naked translation is sure to be hot. Hell, you could always stop by the lab and get another sample jar. Never know, maybe Little Greg will decide he's up for round two. Hate to be wasteful of your natural resources.

Just as you hit the button in the elevator, you hear a voice. "Wait! Why do you need a translation? Is this about the smallpox case?"

Sticking your cane through the closing doors forces the elevator to hold and Masters runs in. "And if it is?" You ask her.

"I heard the CDC took you off the case. I also heard you don't think it's smallpox anymore. Why?"

Hitting the close button you glance at her casually before staring forward at the doors again. "Not your case. Don't wanna talk to about it and break all those hippo rules and everything. I'd hate to do that."

Out of the corner of her eye, you can see her shove her hands into her coat pockets in frustration. "You really are a pain in the ass. I have no idea what Dr. Cameron sees in you."

"Dito. Pretty sure with me it's the copious amounts of _amazing_ sex. But in your case... Have you even had sex? Wait, don't answer that. TMI, even for me. You got a key to Cameron's office?"

"Yes."

"Well, then maybe you aren't completely useless. You can save me bribing the janitor, and in exchange, I'll let you play a round of What Looks Like Smallpox, Acts Like Smallpox, But Isn't Smallpox." She nods just as the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. "C'mon. We're going to hire an online translator."

She unlocks the door, of course knocking first as if she doesn't know Allison's schedule, and then you're in. You head straight for Allison's seat and flip open her laptop and type in the password that she doesn't know you know. While you do a little google search, Masters asks "So where's the rest of your team?"

"Not everyone is an eager young intern basking in the glory of my genius."

"Do they have another case now or something?"

"Nope. Just being useless."

"So what is this thing you need translated, and how is it relevant to the case?"

"It's the Captain's log from the disease infested slave ship our patient found her jar of goodies in."

"So hopefully more detailed information about how it progressed in other patients."

"Yep." Finding what you were looking for about halfway through the first page of results, , you click the link and pick the chatroom of a hot little brunette named Geerte. She's clad in a black naughty nighty, seated eagerly on a little red sofa.

"Oh, yes. My name is Geerte. Are you handsome sexiest American man?"

"Seriously?" Masters groans and you smirk.

"You know, some people" you turn and wink at her, "I would say that I am, yeah. I want you to translate something for me."

Geerte, a little confused, asks "Why you want I translate? I do topless, toys," Hmm, that would so awesome, "and —" Masters interjects loudly, "Just do the translation." to which you reply feigning offense "She can translate however she feels most comfortable."

"Whatever." Greete says, over wasting her time for no pay, "You put in credit card."

You do as she asks and ask her via chat for an email. She messages back and you jot it down and pass it to Masters "Honey, could you email our new friend the Captain's log."

She takes it with a strangely smug smile. "Sure thing … Sexiest American man."

Well, you'll never hear the end of this one from Allison now. "While you're at it, go tell my team that if they'd like to do their jobs sometime today to get their asses up here. Except for Taub. He's making himself useful in the clinic."

* * *

This is what you get for feeding other people's pets. Your father always warned you and now look at you. Trapped in a room with a man who's getting worse, and looking more and more like a man infested with smallpox. You sent away your team. All they were good for was rubbing your screw up in your face. All that's left is sitting on the floor, thinking about how the air in your orange hazmat suit will run out in a few of hours and force you to expose yourself once more.

 _Fuck._ For all the good the suit is likely doing you after your bold move to run into the room with no suit at all to inject the patient with interferon.

You were so sure of your diagnosis. All amped up on the juicy ideas that you wouldn't have even had if it weren't for Masters taking to this case like a dog takes to a stick. At least, Cuddy has honored your requested thus far and kept your current predicament from Wilson and Allison. But at some point, you imagine your luck will run out there too.

She promised that when you were still confident you were right, but now? Even if she doesn't say anything, at some point Allison will look for you, and when…

"Goddammit Greg, why do you always do this?" Looking up you see what small amount of luck you still had has run out. "And what the hell is this?" Allison holds up the proof of your deposit to the sperm bank against the glass wall. "Did you think leaving me sperm would somehow take the edge off of you risking your life?"

"Actually," you say as you start to get off the floor. Once upright, you walk over to the glass and continue, "that was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. I had a penis card and everything." She rolls her eyes, trying to make light of everything, but you can see she's on the edge of losing it, so you hope to lighten the mood by joking back. "But, looks like the timing couldn't have been better."

"You idiot." She states simply. It's not like she'd ever be surprised but your crazy behavior at this point. "Did you at least knock out Wilson and implant your katra before you decided the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few… oh wait. This isn't that scene is it?"

She makes a frustrated reference to The Wrath of Khan, which you'd watched together recently, amused to find you both could quote it. And, well, the situation does kinda fit.

"I have been, and always shall be… your friend," you say with a raspy voice. Looking down at your gloved hand you say in your normal tone, "You'll forgive me if I don't take off the glove for the Vulcan greeting."

"Dammit," she says, with a strange smile as she wipes the tears that are now flowing from her eyes. "I always cry at this part."

"I'm sure that's all it is."

"Has to be. Why would I cry over my fiancee risking his life for the patient, yet again, because he doesn't ever think about anything other than the solution to the puzzle? It's not like I don't know that about him, or should ever expect to be thought of before he charges in where angels fear to tread."

"Because you love him for it."

"Yeah, there's that." She wipes her eyes again. Her eyeliner is smearing. Great. You did that. Thing is, if you were right, it would have saved the patient. The odds have simply caught up with you. And of course, they do just as you get a real life away from your puzzles.

"What the hell do I do?" She asks. "Just sit out here and wait to see if you die? Haven't I done that enough times at this point in my life? You do know there's not going to be a mystic ceremony to bring you back, with comical interludes of Wilson acting crazy like you because he is carrying your soul?"

"That's really too bad. 'Cause… It would be really funny."

"Where is Wilson?"

"I asked Cuddy not to tell him, and I guess the hospital gossip mill hasn't made it to him just yet."

"So, how did you find my little present? It was supposed to be a surprise."

"You asked me to do hours for you, remember? I went to your office to find your name badge. I looked in your jacket for it when it wasn't in your desk."

"Ah, that's because I made Taub go do them."

"That explains why I never found your name badge. I went to my office because I figured you'd be there if this was some joke and found your team with Masters there instead, on my computer, talking to a sex chat worker. They gave me the short story and here I am."

You nod. At least your team hasn't given up, but odds are you've made your last extreme move. Suite or not, you've already been exposed. Whole thing really just gives you a little bit of mathematical comfort.

"Masters is really upset. She apologized to me at least ten times. Funny how I had to calm her down, and not the other way around."

"You know me."

"You better not die on me. What the fuck will I to do with that big house all by myself?"

Oh, fuck. The house. The all of everything you own there. Well, Wilson won't screw her. He'd know you'd want her to have it. Fuck. You should have redone your will when you did the medical proxy. Man, you've left a mess for the two of them to clean up.

Or… It can't be that simple, can it? You've been looking for an excuse to force her to get on with the wedding. Nothing like dying to seal the deal with Allison Cameron. This makes you even more her type. Guess this means you've lost a bet with your lawyer. Got to make sure that you tell Wilson to buy the man a beer or something because he's saved you.

"We need to get married. Now."


	22. The Search for Eschars

_"We need to get married. Now."_

 **Chapter 22: The Search for Eschars**

"Stop it, Greg. There is only so much joking I can take about marrying dying men."

"It's not a joke. It's because of the way my lawyer worded my will. If I die now, you and Wilson will be up to your necks dealing with my things. He'll own half our house, the insurance payoff, and all my stuff. I trust him not to totally screw you and all, but there's an easier way. You and I get married. Now. Before I get sick and there is any sort of question that I'm not at full capacity."

"That's always in question. How's that any easier, or even possible? New Jersey has a minimum 72 hour waiting period to get a license."

You consider that for a moment, wondering how she knows that before recalling she's been through all that recently enough to know. _There has to be a way. Has to be someone… yes, that's it!_ "Call Stacy. Her best friend does prenuptial law. She'll know someone in the Registrar's office who'll be able to backdate it for us."

Allison is in complete doubt of the plan. "Let's pretend, for a moment, that she can make that happen in oh," she glances at her watch "less than an hour and 45 minutes. How are you planning on signing it?"

"I'll give Wilson verbal permission to sign as my proxy. Who is going to dispute it anyway? You've signed my name on hundreds of legal hospital forms and no one ever questions it. All we need is someone to perform the ceremony and witness the whole thing. This is a hospital there are probably at least 5 ministers in this place at any given time of the day."

"So you are fine with a religious ceremony?"

"I don't give a shit so long as you are Mrs. Dr. House at the end of the day."

She considers this for a moment, her demeanor still lacking signs of any emotion other than frustration. Then her face lightens with an idea. "We can have Chase do it. He got one of those mail in Minister's things so he could perform the ceremony for one of his friend's weddings."

"Well, that's just going to be weird," you say raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but that's what we do. Dammit, Greg, this isn't how I wanted it to go this time. I feel like I'm cursed. Some sort of black widow."

You smile and joke back, "Hey, you got a house, a baby grand, some bad ass guitars and genius sperm out of it. Not like you are coming up empty handed."

"I hate you so much right now and I really don't want to do this." She puts her fist against the glass.

"I know. I hate me too. But, I don't see another way. Think of it this way, if I'm fine, we can still have a real ceremony. We were going to do it at some point anyway. That is if you still _want_ to marry me." She gives you a warning look for delivering a low blow. It's a jerk move, but you always pull out all the stops to get the result you want. "If I have managed to expose myself to smallpox everything I have goes to Wilson. Not just my stuff, either. If I do die, you'll have no right to any of my remains. No say in anything they do to my body. But if we can make this work, we can at least make it so everything goes to you as my spouse.

"My lawyer insisted I make an if-I-get-married loophole in my will when I changed it from Stacy to Wilson. I laughed at him at the time. Even made a bet I'd never need it. So, you'll have to make sure to pay the guy a hundred bucks for me.

"Look, I know you don't give a shit about owning my stuff, but I want you to have it, well except for the Barry Manilow, that's all going to Wilson no matter what." she starts to ask about that but you intervene, "No you shouldn't ask. I don't want you and Wilson to be up to your necks in legal bullshit to make that happen. Also, and I know it sounds stupid, but I want my obituary to say I was survived by someone other than my mother."

She gives you a soft look. "Greg, that's not stupid. That's just what the rest of us mere mortals call 'normal'."

You give her a warning look for the last part of that remark and go on with your speech. "You've done this before, you know there's next to nothing the spouse has to do for inheritance. It's just how the system works." She turns around, leans against the glass wall, then straightens her arm suddenly, hitting the glass with her fist. "You know I'm right Allison. I'm sorry it's not the wedding you deserve and I'm not the man you deserve, but please let me try to make this one thing right."

You can see her exhale and heave. Slowly, she turns back to face you, tears in her eyes. "You know I never can say no to you."

"You should learn at some point. It's a serious character flaw. Just don't start today, because I'm right."

"I know." The patient groans and the monitor start to beep. You put your gloved hand against the glass once more. "Go get Wilson, tell him what's going on and to call Stacy and your brother," you instruct her as you turn to tend to the man behind you.

"Why my brother?" She asks as you turn. You answer over your shoulder, "We were planning a party for your birthday. Your parents flew in a day early to visit him. They can't get here in time, and even if they could no one would let them in, but they can video chat in at least. I know you wanted them to come this time."

And with that, you turn your full focus to your patient and leave a shell-shocked Allison behind you.

"I'm not gonna make it, am I?" He asks weakly. Looking at the monitor tells you the answer is no.

"You should say goodbye to your family," you tell him and glance back as you start to push his bed closer to the glass wall next to his wife and son. Allison puts her hand to the glass, tears in her eyes then turns quickly and walks away to go set up your crash wedding.

* * *

You can always count on your best friend.

"So, Stacy came through. Her friend called in a favor with a guy at the Registrar's. We filled out the application over the phone, he went ahead and filed the license, backdated for a week ago. Once he gets the signed application and certificate of marriage back, he says you're good to go. Technically, you've been legally married for about 10 minutes. So long there isn't any contesting of your will, and there won't be since it's just Allison and myself, and all the paperwork gets back to him signed, no one will have any reason to try to poke holes in the timeline." He sighs, debating something for a second, then asks you. "Are you sure about this? You know I'm not going to screw Allison over if you don't get out of this, right?"

He obviously needs to know you trust him to not dick over Allison, but you don't have time to deal with neediness. "Just sign the damned paper, Wilson."

Nodding, he holds the form against the glass and signs your name under Allison's, then turns it around for you to see. "Thanks, Wilson," you say in a moment of sincerity. "Now, where're Allison and Chase? We need to get this show on the road, Broda will be sending in his goons to bleach the body in 30 minutes and no way he is letting a wedding party hang around while he's doing that."

"Yeah. Allison's crying in the bathroom. Chase is in there with Rebecca trying to pull her together. You certainly outdid yourself on this one."

"Yeah, thanks for being a great friend and rubbing it in."

"That's why you love me."

An uncomfortable sigh escapes your lips. Why does Wilson have to get all emo on you? "Did you get a hold of Gabe?"

He nods, "Sam called him. Their parents got to his place earlier today. He really wanted to drive in, but I told him it wouldn't matter with the lockdown and the timeline. So, he says he can do a Facetime call to Allison's iPad. They seriously won't just transfer you out of there? Or at least let Allison in with full gear on?"

"Nope. He doesn't want to be responsible for infecting anyone else. His guys are signed up for it, the rest of the hospital is not and he's not a rule-bending kinda guy."

"Right. Well." He leans his shoulder against the glass. His cheeks puff a bit as he exhales deeply. "I think I'm going to ask Sam if she'd like to have kids."

"Aren't you skipping a few steps? Like annulling your divorce?"

"Since when are you so conservative?"

"I'm not. But I've met your mother."

"At this point, I think she thinks we're gay, don't want kids, and that Sam is just a convenient cover." He stands upright and nods towards the hall doors. "I think your wife's here."

Chase and Rebecca come through the door first, blocking your view of Allison, creating a makeshift wedding procession. Chase is holding a rolled up document, which you assume is the certificate of marriage, and Rebecca has an iPad. You can see Allison's dark hair behind Rebecca, otherwise, she is still hidden from view as they walk the rest of the distance to the glass encasement.

Rebecca holds up the iPad and turns on the screen. It comes to life and she hits a button to make the Facetime call. It barely rings and Gabe picks up. "Hey, Gabe. You guys ready for this?"

"As ready as we can be," Gabe answers somberly. She moves to one side revealing Allison, strategically standing at an angle to shield the bed of the dead body from Allison's family's view.

Allison steps forward. Her face is clean; her makeup reapplied. Her navy blue dress hugs her curves nicely, without being overtly provocative. The hem stops just at the top of her knees. The neckline is low, but not enough to reveal more than a hint of her cleavage. A gold necklace with a small chain of round beads hangs a few inches above the lowest point of the fabric. Her hair has been pulled up since she was last here, with a few curls left loose to frame her face. She's obviously borrowed some of Cuddy's lipstick because this shade is much redder than her normal conservative work color. In her hands is a single white long-stem rose.

You wonder for a moment if she has done the old cliche of old, new, borrowed, blue, but you don't want to waste time asking. It doesn't really matter. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Wilson snapping a picture and it brings you out of the silent appreciation of your now wife.

"You look good," you tell her. Beautiful would have been a better word, but the whole situation has your emotional guard up. If you let yourself feel all the things you should be feeling, you might not get through this.

"You look very… orange." She jokes softly, working hard to match your demeanor. Obviously, letting things get serious is something both of you would like to avoid.

"Hey, what can I say? Orange is the new black."

Chase clears his throat to signal he's ready to begin the ceremony, such as it is. "We are gathered here today, in front of these witnesses to join together in matrimony Dr. Gregory House and Dr. Allison Cameron. Greg, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Oh good, he's keeping it short and to the point. Hell, it's not even necessary, but dammit she deserves more than the signing of a piece of paper. "I do."

"Allison, do you take this crazy idiot to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

His comment makes her laugh. "Yeah. Despite my better judgment, I do." It's nice he still loves her enough to bother caring that she's happy. And if you do die, maybe she'll wise up and figure out… _Dammit, I'm not giving her away to him. I'm not dead yet._

"Gee, thanks you two." You stick out your tongue and she responds in kind, and almost immediately she begins to tear up.

Chase continues, "If there is anyone here who has a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your piece."

No one speaks and if they had, you'd find a way to kill them. Hell, you could break out and inflict them with smallpox. That would be funny, if you weren't scared shitless you might have it yourself.

"Well, then, by the power vested in me by the state of New Jersey, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Congratulations, Doctor and Doctor House."

A long and awkward silence occurs in the place the audience would normally stand and cheer and throw things at the newly married couple. After all, it isn't exactly a happy affair. It's Wilson who finally speaks. "Let's get the paperwork signed. Then we'll go scan and email it and leave you guys alone," he glances back to the family imprisoned beside you, who have been respectfully watching of your crazy wedding, "well alone-ish for a few minutes."

After everyone signs, all leave but Allison. She turns to you and jokes softly as not to disturb the mourning family anymore "I guess consummating the marriage will have to wait."

Amused and proud of her for not being a complete mess you answer, "Pretty sure that was supposed to be my line."

"I guess you're rubbing off on me."

"It's one of my favorite things to do… if ya know what I mean." You waggle your eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. A lump suddenly catches in your throat, "I'm sorry. You deserve better. If I get out of this, I promise I'll —"

"Don't," she places a hand to the glass. "I don't need you to say something that you don't really mean just because you think you're dying. If you get out of this, all I want is for you to go on being you. If you didn't run into the room to do what you think is right, with no thought of anything else, you wouldn't be the man I fell in love with. It fucking sucks, but it's why you're so amazing."

"Well, roses, thorns, you know the song."

She grins lopsidedly. "I've been thinking — "

A large group of people enters the hallway and sound as if they are arguing. It's Foreman, Cheng, Masters and Broda's team. Masters pleads with him, "Just start them on doxycycline."

Broda scoffs, "Based on a bald cat? You never heard of shedding?"

Foreman jumps in and asks "What's the downside?"

"If we shove her full of antibiotics plus the antivirals," Broda replies "it'll suppress her bone marrow."

Cheng steps in front of Broda, who is trying to ready his team. "Look, that girl will die. This could save her."

"Or push her over the edge." Broda says as he side steps.

Masters fires back at him, "At least look at the dad's body. Small patches of black, dead tissue will prove I'm right. Eschars appear with rickettsialpox but not with smallpox."

Broda rolls his eyes, "If he had developed eschars, I would have noticed."

Overhearing the conversation, Allison jumps in. "You or your team haven't been in the room since three. Have them check now."

She points to two men carrying large canisters who are just about to enter the room. Broda shakes his head no. "Their job is to bleach the body, kill the virus, and get it out of there for your husband's sake."

"Bleaching the body will destroy all evidence of rickettsialpox." Masters pleads, stepping between him and Allison.

"There is no evidence! I'm not trying to hurt anyone here. I'm not lying to you. This is smallpox." Broda tries to reason with them.

"Why do you think it's r-pox?" you ask.

Masters walks up to the glass to answer you. "The Captain had a cat. He lost his fur and then died."

You look to Allison "It fits."

Masters continues to look at you through the glass as Broda's team still prepare to enter the room. "House, you need to examine the body for eschars."

Yes, _if_ she's right. Problem is you don't want to go back near the body. If she's wrong, you could lose any chance you have. Allison glances over at the team getting ready to enter the first section of the chamber with an odd look. Dammit, she'd better not be thinking what you think she's thinking. "Allison, don't you even think about doing something like I'd do. I'll look."

You walk over to the body and uncover it. Broda yells to you, "Step back, Dr. House."

Allison turns to him, "If you really give a shit about him, or the girl, you'd have your team look. Because that's the only thing that will stop him now. And I really wish you would, because you're honestly acting like an unreasonable dick about it."

That's your girl. Never pulls her punches when she's fighting for someone she loves. But you can't count on Broda to be moved and time is running out. You pull the body's shirt open and try to examine it, but the damned gloves are making it nearly impossible. "It's kind of hard to do an autopsy in oven mitts."

"Take them off." Masters urges you.

"Says the woman standing behind two panes of glass." You say and look over.

Allison is death-staring Broda. "Look. Master's is good and she's probably right. House knows that and will take off his gloves. But if she's wrong that's going to be on you, because all you have to do is ask your guys to help examine the body to stop him. And, if it is rickettsialpox, it's curable. That girl might die before you get back your smallpox test and see that you could have done something to stop it."

Masters stays focused on you while Allison continues to lay into Broda, "Do you believe me? Forget me. Do you believe you? You think it's rickettsialpox, don't you? If it is, it's curable, and she's gonna die unless we can prove it."

"You really are annoying." Just as you are about to take off your gloves, you hear Broda yell, "Fine. You win. But this is it. No more. If you are wrong, I'm clearing this entire wing and posting guards. None of you will get in 50 yards of this hallway, dying husband or not."

Broda issues new instructions to his team. They enter the room and find their evidence no more than two minutes into the examination. You breath a sigh of relief, take off your helmet and nod to Masters. Allison lunges towards her and hugs her hard, which makes Masters look exceedingly uncomfortable.

Broda yells to his team. "Get the girl on Doxycycline. Right now."

* * *

It's morning before the CDC lifts the quarantine on the hospital. You've been inoculated, showered, caught a couple of hours of sleep while your clothes washed and sterilized in the hospital laundry. After getting dressed and finally freed from the hands of the CDC, you wonder up to Allison's office to see if she'd like to get some breakfast.

She's crashed out on her couch. Sitting down, you rub her arm gently to wake her. "Hey. Let's go get breakfast."

Yawning, she sits up and rubs her eyes, and nods yes. You smile. "Happy birthday." She gives you a full smile that you don't deserve.

You keep waiting for it to feel different or sink in that she's now your wife, but you love her just the same now as you did yesterday. You're still in awe of her love. Still terrified of losing it. But at least, for now, she's promised to be yours. So, for now, you decide to keep on letting yourself be happy.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to you. Maybe it doesn't feel real because you didn't get to exchange vows or rings or kiss her. "Hey, stand up. Take this." You pull off your engagement ring and hand it to her, then order "Gimmie yours."

She gives you a questioning look as she takes your ring. "Greg, we don't have to do this."

"Yeah. We do. I don't know when we'll get around to doing some sort of big ceremony, or even if you really want one, so I think we should at least do all the parts that we can now. I mean, I didn't even get to kiss the bride."

"Okay. The bride does have to admit she would feel more married if she were thoroughly kissed by the groom." You both stand and she pulls off her ring and hands it to you, then makes an attempt at straightening up her hair. You look down at the ring, remembering when you picked it out, and how much you'd both laughed about how your rings looked more like wedding bands. Guess that's turned out to be a good thing, because they are about to become just that.

"Give me your left hand," you order motioning impatiently with yours. She puts her hand in yours and you take a moment to admire her long, thin fingers. Her nails are short and painted in a clear finish because everything she does with her hands during work would ruin anything else. Despite the lack of adornment, they are very beautiful fingers. You put her ring on up to the first knuckle of her fourth finger, then look up to meet her eyes.

"The first time I gave you this ring, it was as a form of proof. Proof that I was serious about wanting to marry you. Proof that you actually agreed. Proof to other dudes that you are mine, so back the fuck off." She rolls her eyes at the last one. "This time I'm giving it to you as a symbol of my promises. My promise to love you completely, irrationally and sometimes insanely. My promise to always be loyal to you, even more than I am to Wilson. My promise to you that it will never be boring. Allison, take this ring as a reminder of my promise to be the only kind of husband I can be… Yours."

You slide the ring on, hoping, for once, that you found the right words. Tears start to fall down her cheeks as you do, so you must have done okay. _Why do women always have to cry?_ Then again, your eyes are burning a little now too.

She looks down at her hand when you release it and takes a good look at the ring. Looking back up she says "Your turn," and holds out her left hand to take yours. With her right she mimics your motions from before, placing your ring on your fourth finger just up to the knuckle.

"When you first decided you wanted an engagement ring, I thought, 'that's my House. Always taking the path that provides the most drama or potential for entertainment.' But, when I put it on you the first time, the look in your eyes told me you wanted it because you'd already decided you were right about us. That's what I love most about you and what I hate most about you. It's what keeps me up some nights wondering what they hell you'll do next. You are fearless when you believe you are right. Now, I'm giving you this ring as a symbol of my promises. My promise to be fearless in how I love you. My promise to always be there for you when you do the next crazy thing you'll do because you know you are right. My promise to be faithful and loyal to you above everyone and everything else. Greg, take this ring as a reminder that I'll be your wife because it's always been you and it will forever be you."

She slides the ring on and now you get what all the fuss is about. Your heart is pounding in your ears and your palms are starting to sweat. She looks back up into your eyes and smiles. "I think this is the part where you get to kiss the bride."

Leaning forward you tilt your head to one side as she takes a step forward and leans her head back. Your lips brush hers so lightly at first, you might have missed it. You kiss her again just enough to taste her bottom lip. Her tongue snakes out and runs along your top lip and you open your mouth and meet it with yours, tasting her. You go on like that for what seems like an eternity. Content in the knowledge that she's truly yours now, there's no hurry. No need to rush things, no need to end them either.

That is until your belly growls loudly. You haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. Pulling back, you tell her "I need to eat so I don't pass out. We can pick back up on the honeymoon after the wedding feast. I vote, in lieu of wedding cake, we proceed with feeding one another pancakes."

A smile and a nod of her head single her agreement. "Think Wilson and Sam want to join us? Maybe he can give a speech or something."

"I like the way you think Mrs. Dr. House."

"Why thank you, Mr. Dr. House." She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

With that you grab your cane and take her hand and lead her from the office, texting Wilson on the way. He suggests you meet at iHop for breakfast. Getting to her car, you both take a look at it, then each other and start to laugh. It is covered in streamers of toilet paper, 'get well soon' balloons are tied to the front bumper on both sides with exes through the text and on the back 'congrats' is scrawled in what looks like Foreman's handwriting, the back bumper has a string of soda cans and 'Just Married' is painted across the back window in English and Chinese characters.

Grabbing the passenger's side door handle, you curse as your fingers are covered in something greasy and the slip away without being able to open it. "Those mother fuckers!" Allison just laughs at you as she tosses her bag in the back seat and gets into the driver's side. Starting the car she rolls down the window and tosses you a box of tissues. "Wipe your hand and my handle and let's get this show on the road."

As you do, you laugh to yourself. The whole thing is crazy. But that's what you do and lucky for you Allison wouldn't have you any other way.

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_ _Oh yes I did. It wasn't what I had planned originally but once I thought of it, I had to do it. It just seemed perfect for the two of them._

 _Some FYI, after some long consideration I'll be splitting season 7 into two books. It's simply too much for one and once we have a little bit of honeymoon wrap-up this feels like a great place to end a story called 'Becoming Us'._

 _The idea I have for the second half, is something I've been trying to work toward for the whole of this book, but it was too complex a situation to rush into it. They needed time to evolve to do the next part justice. The way I want to frame this story will require that I write it all before I publish it, or I'll run the risk of screwing up what I want to do by going off on a random tangent. When I finish it, I plan to publish one chapter a week._

 _But, don't fret the wait time too much. I have a new/different story that is fully written and in the process of being edited that I will start publishing after I finish the last couple of chapters of 'Becoming Us'. Hopefully it will help tie you over as you wait for me to write the next installment of this universe. It's a post season 8 story and is a very different Cameron and to some extent a different House. It's also a rather unusual take on the concept of Hameron after House's 'death'. A little darker than others I've read, but still all about my favorite ship._

 _I'll likely post the start of that with the end of this. So keep an eye out for both of those things in weeks to come._

 _As always, my love and gratitude to atavares. Her job has her working like mad but she keeps carving out time to help me with my stories. She also provides me with entertaining chat and puts up with the random perverting things my phone generates. I am far too entertained by predictive text and she is very patient with my mad randomly generated texts. 'House's cock juice tastes better than the endless supply of the devil' is indeed true and my phone is just making sure we know it. In another five years it'll probably be writing Hameron stories for me._

 _Thank you all for reading. I hope you're looking forward to a birthday party and honeymoon. I know I'm pretty excited about writing the sex for both. :P_


	23. Celebrations

_**A/N:**_ _Well my dear readers, I think there's some good and some meh work on my part here. I'm not fishing for a compliment, only apologising for a filler chapter that doesn't really go anywhere. It's not horrible or anything just… I dunno. Maybe it's because I'm trying to wrap it up enough to stand on its own while still leaving some room for another installment. Maybe it's just monthly hormones. (sorry, TMI) Who knows. I'm getting tugged in lots of directions these days and it's just not as easy to get in a groove. But part of the process is writing even when it doesn't feel so good. This was one of those chapters._

 _God, if this software I've been coding for the last 9 months will ever just be released, maybe I could feel normal again for a little while and have some time to lose myself to writing for a few weeks. It's like a baby. I love it, but it's time the bitch was out of me and dropped off with relatives for a few weeks while Mommy takes a spa break._

 _As always, thanks to atavares for hanging in there with me. I feel like it shows when the two of our schedules don't line up and she's reduced to more of a proofreader and less of an advisor. She's amazing and I look forward to a time in which both our jobs get slow at the same time again. :)_

 _We have at least one more after this one. A naughty little first time as man and wife chapter before things are fully wrapped up. Despite my downer notes, I do hope you enjoy!_

 **Chapter 23: Celebrations**

"And of course there was the time House paid some guy in IT to reprogram the MRI computer to embed ghost images of famous porn star penises within the scan images—"

Well, looks like Wilson is finally getting his payback in for your speeches at his last two weddings. Of course, no one here is under any sort of disillusions about you. You're an ass. They all know it. The most important people in the room even like you because of it… or maybe in spite of it… or probably a little of both.

Being the thoughtful friend he is, he knew you would want breakfast to celebrate and was one step ahead of you asking everyone drive into town the night before. Then coordinated to get them to the IHOP as soon as you texted him a breakfast location. Cameron's family was there. Your mother and Thomas drove in early as well. Of course, Wilson shielded her from the whole nasty affair until after the fact. As always, she forgives you for fucking up though you robbed her of getting to attend your wedding.

Rebecca was there with her husband and kids. Cuddy, Lucas, and Rachel even showed up. Of course, your team and Masters were there too. Considering how much you hate the idea of inviting people you barely know just because the social contract says you have to, you are more than okay with how your wedding reception has turned out. Everyone here is a real part of each of your lives.

"— and being the giant ass he is, he put the glue right inside the seam, but boy oh boy you should have seen the look on the patient's face when he whipped out his pliers and proceeded to—"

Leaning over to your wife, you whisper in her ear as she giggles and sips her coffee. "It's cute that he thinks he's somehow shocking anyone here with these fantastical tales of my pranking prowess. Everyone here knows me. Hell, half of you have experienced them first hand."

You look up and give him an exaggerated eye roll, mostly to make him feel like his plan to embarrass you is working because he _is_ your friend and all. Allison leans in and whispers back, "I bet he thinks he's somehow shocking my parents. Little does he know, I've told my mother just about every insane House moment I've been witness to. If fact, he should be far more worried his grand tales are making my father jealous. I think Dad thought you and he shared something special."

That makes you snort and happy you weren't drinking your coffee.

"Seriously, though. Despite all the insanity, I've never had a better or more loyal friend than Gregory House. Allison, you are in for a crazy ride, but you knew that going in. I asked you once to handle him with care because I didn't think he could take being broken anymore. It was a tall order then and it's a tall order now, but I've seen how unconditionally and irrationally you love him. It will take that for your marriage to make it."

"Hey," you backhand his arm, "you're one to talk. So far I have a perfect record. You're oh and three."

He's not phased. "It's not always easy to live with him. Some days you'll think you're insane for doing it. But, mostly, you'll wonder how you ended up so lucky to be loved by this incredible person that sees everything and everyone around them for what they are. And how, despite that, he's chosen to let you into his small and guarded universe and wants you to be his.

"I am honored to call Greg my best friend and I am so happy he came around and gave dating you a second chance because God knows I've needed the help for years now. He's a lot to handle. And with that in mind, just remember my couch is always open when he's being a pain in your ass. He knows where to find it, but please remember to text first so I don't wake up with my hand in a bowl of water, or full of shaving creme."

"One hundred bucks says you end up on our couch before I end up back on yours." You tell him as you stand and embrace him; the group applauds his speech. Though you've never been one for public displays of affection, now seems like the time. Allison stands. When you let him go she steps in front of you to hug him, adding a bonus kiss on the cheek.

Sitting back down, you sip your coffee and spy some left-over pancake on Allison's plate. Tragic thing to waste you think, picking up your fork and stealing it away before the server comes back around to remove it. As you chew you think back to 30 minutes before when the server brought out a giant stack of cakes, decorated with whipped cream and brightly colored fruit, and sat it in front of you and Allison. The only thing missing were two little people on top, but there had been no time to pull that off. Instead, they'd put a big and small strawberry on top.

You held the knife together and cut through the stack, then shoved bites into each other's faces smearing whipped cream all over your beard and her cheeks. A sweet kiss spread it even more. Being you, you even tried licking it off her face, but she was having none of it.

It was surreal and crazy, but damn if it wasn't the best you've felt since… well, you can't even remember when.

After the breakfast reception, the men in her family head back to your house in Gabe's car. Your mother and Thomas ended up staying with Wilson due to insufficient room at your place with Allison's family staying at your home tonight. She and Thomas planned on heading back there to rest until the birthday party, since they only got a few hours of sleep after their all night drive. Your workmates all head off their separate ways.

You were tired, but too buzzed on the current events to crave sleep. Mostly you wanted to get a room for the honeymoon and buy some fun wedding gifts for the occasion. Allison's mother, Rebecca, and Sam have piled into her car. Hugging Allison close to you next to the door of her car, you kiss her before sending her off. "Wilson is going to perform some best man duties and help me shop for my wedding present to you."

"You're not going to rent strippers are you?"

"Do you want strippers? Because the thought of a hot chick giving you a lap dance is making Little Greg, not so little."

"I didn't mean for me and I wasn't being serious."

"I know, but it's still a pretty awesome idea."

"Just get us a badass honeymoon suite and if you're going to buy sex toys, don't go to the store next to the Victoria's Secret. Before we go home, the ladies are taking me on a sexy lingerie shopping spree and I want it all to be a surprise."

"I do love surprises. Especially lacey ones."

"Make sure the room has a big hot tub and killer room service. Oh, and a big T.V.. We can bring the Play Station. I don't plan on leaving the entire weekend."

You salute her then lean down and kiss her lips gently. "I'll get this part right. I promise."

"I know. Anything fun or sex related and you are always on top of your game."

"I'll see you at home."

* * *

"Oooh Wilson, check this shit out," you snicker before you read the description from the 18 inch Doc Johnson double ended dildo box you are holding aloud "'If you're craving some seriously satisfying shared pleasure but can't find a pill that fills, it's time to make an appointment with the Doc.' I find that to be extremely appropriate given the fact we're both doctors."

"Seems like one of these curved ones would be better for double penetration," Wilson says as he points to a U shaped two-headed silicon dick.

"Only if the two of us were laying on our sides ass to ass. With this one, we can do it that way or facing one another or on our knees ass to ass, or we both can double up our pleasure if she wants to ride me while we use this bad-boy at the same time."

His face contorts as he realizes the two holes you plan on using this on don't both belong to your wife. "That's just…"

"Amazing and creative? I know. You have no idea. Loosen your ass up and give anal a try, Wilson. The prostate needs some lovin'."

A cold stare is his only reply as a sales person walks up to you. "My boyfriend was all serious-top like him for the longest time. Despite the fact he saw how hard I came every time he pounded me, he maintained that his anus was an exit only. But then he lost a bet and I got to rock his universe. Now we have one of these Doc Johnson's and we love using it together."

"He and I are not lovers. We're not even gay." Wilson does his best to clarify.

"Oh, my." The salesman looks up to you with a wink and you shrug your shoulders. "This is a strange place for denial, but whatever works for you."

"He's just not used to being so open with his sexuality in public. But get him in a coat closet at his mom's house—" you put the back of your hand to one side of your mouth and whisper conspiratorially "I think it's the closet part that turns him on so much."

Wilson becomes animated as he attempts, once more, to set the record _straight_. "He's just being a jerk. We're not gay — well at least I'm not. I don't know about him anymore. He just got married, to a woman, and he's looking for something for his honeymoon."

The salesman claps his hands together gleefully. "Oh, so you're an open minded straight guy. I like that. Pegging is all the rage now. We get couples in here all the time looking to do a little role reversal. Does she have a harness already? A style she prefers? Because we have some really amazing numbers that are designed to give her as much pleasure as she's giving."

"Actually, it will be our first time going 'all the way' if you know what I mean. We've got lots of toys but I thought that we could have a twist on the traditional wedding night and I could give her my only remaining virginity."

"Oh, that's so romantic!"

"It's something." Wilson sighs under his breath. He really needs to stop being so repressed.

"Don't knock it, Jimmy. The prostate orgasm will blow your mind."

"He speaks the truth, hon."

"I'm not gay. I don't find penis attractive."

"So do it with a woman and you'll still not be gay in the morning and don't use a penis shaped object and you'll be even less gay."

"I can't believe I let you drag me in here. How am I even supposed to talk to Allison now after imagining her in that?" He points to a butch looking harness with an immense and well-veined cock attached, the sight of which causes a crinkle of your nose.

"That's awful, so you shouldn't imagine it at all." You look around and the salesman approaches you again with a box labeled 'Fetish Fantasy Elite 7 Inch Penetrix Double Dildo Vibrator'.

"I was thinking you'd both enjoy something like this. It's all silicone, waterproof, has five vibration patterns with various speeds. If you'll follow me we have a demo on display." You are feeling good about this toy so far, so you follow him a short distance to a display table full of unboxed toys. "As you can see the wearer has this six-inch insertable g-spot stimulator as well as this textured area for clitoral stimulation as she thrusts. The receiving end isn't modeled into a penis so that should make your friend's overly nosey imagination happier. It is, however, shaped in a way to maximize your pleasure. The strap has a place to clip on the remote control. So she can use her hands in other more delicious ways."

"I like it. What's the harness look like?"

Digging through a drawer behind the display, he produces the harness in question. You take it and inspect it, finding it to appear sturdy without looking like something a horse should be wearing. It's actually a little like black bikini briefs with velcro adjustments on either side. It will look sexy on Allison, you're sure of it.

"Okay. Let's do this. I'll take this stuff and the Doc Johnson. That way all the bases are covered. We don't plan on leaving the hotel room for two days so options are important."

"That's the spirit! And as a honeymoon present, I'll toss in my favorite water based lube and toy cleaner."

"Cool." You start to walk back up to the front of the store when a sexy red number catches your eye. "Hey, that's fucking sexy as hell. Does it work with this one?" You ask. The red Chantilly Lace Corset strap-on with black satin ties is sending your imagination into overload. It doesn't hurt that the manikin it's on has a similarly shaped ass as Allison.

As you fondle the manikin and the harness he tells you "No, but we've gotten great feedback on that one as well. It's strong and the padding on the straps makes it super comfy. With the o-rings, it will work with most any of your standard suction cup dildos. So you may already have some it will work with, or you can head back to the wall and have another look."

The more you think about it, the more you are starting to feel like this is the better plan. The other looks fun, but it's almost too much of a toy and not enough of a cock for it to count. And you want her fantasies fulfilled as much as you want your own. Something tells you she'll prefer to use a realistic cock to take your manhole's v-card. As big as you are, it's only fair she gets to use at least something the size of Junior on you. You know she'll make it good, even though the thought of a taking cock almost as big as yours has you a little nervous.

 _All part of the game,_ you think. "We do have something that should work. Toss one of those on my order too. Never can have too many sex toy options."

* * *

Allison's party is going full swing by late afternoon. Her parents love the house and her father is filling your head full of upgrades you should do to finish the currently empty basement. "I'm telling you, you could move the workout room down there and still have room for a man cave. Those shitty stairs can be replaced by something you won't fall and kill yourself on. Hell, you could do one of those mini platform elevators by giving up a small corner of the laundry and not have to deal with them at all. Got a piece of paper?"

Allison giggles at you and him from across the room where she is showing off her drum set to the kids. She knows you are cornered and in no position after what you put everyone through yesterday to say no. Even if you were in a position to be an ass, you kinda like the idea of building a man cave and if you can get the planning done for free, even better. Maybe the build out could be the father daughter bonding that will completely heal the rift between them.

You lead him to your office and start milling around for a piece of paper. Finding some in the printer on the bookshelf behind the desk you turn to hand it to David and find yourself face to fist. Stumbling backward your back meets with the shelves behind you. Some books get knocked over as you catch yourself. "What the fuck was that!" You ask, rubbing your jaw.

"That's for being an ass and putting Allison through that awful wedding and not the one she deserves. If it weren't for the fact that I think you're really the one, I'd continue, but all things considered, I'm going to leave it there and welcome you to the family, you crazy son of a bitch." He smiles and puts out his left hand, taking note your cane is still in your right. Not many people think about that. You deserve worse and appreciate the way her father takes her side. Yours never cared to take yours. David is a far cry from your old man.

Yes, you've decided you like David Cameron. Reaching out you meet his hand and he helps pull you upright into a man hug. "Seriously, welcome to the family. Just try not to be such a fuckup. I know Allison can take a lot, but we'd all sleep better if you look before you leap a little more often. I get it's your style and that she loves you for it, but it will wear on the relationship over time if you're not able to temper it."

You know he's right, but don't know if you're capable of it. Finding the lingering embrace becoming awkward you ask, "So if you're done getting all homo on me, you still want to design this epic man cave?"

"Oh hell yes," he confirms with a final strong pat on the back. Letting you go he steps back and picks up the dropped paper and smiles. "I'm going to design the one Mary won't let me build at our house and we can talk about setting up a time that I can come back and help build it. Call it my wedding gift to you."

You were surprised to find that Jon's barista friend, Dan, crashed the party. Apparently, they've been 'texting'. Mariana corners you as soon as the boys go out to swim. She's beaming, her accent thicker from her excitement. "So, I guess I have you to thank for this boyfriend. He is _so_ cute! Jon walk up to me and introduce Dan as 'my boyfriend' and I was trying to be like it's cool, no big deal, but really I want to jump and kiss him. I ask 'so how did you meet' because he obviously live here. Jon say then 'Uncle Greg hooked us up when he bought me the guitar.'"

Wonder where Gabe is and if he'll be just as happy?

"Thank you. We didn't know how best to get him to talk to us about it. And now is so much better because he trust us to think nothing of it." Of course, she then hugs you hard. Right around the waist. She's nearly a whole foot shorter so your arms are just about around her neck as you awkwardly wrap them around her. All the while your eyes dart around the room hoping no one from work is around to see this.

She steps back and wipes a tear and waves across the room were Gabe and his parents are seated talking to Lucas and _Lisa_ (as she's introduced herself). It's damned bizarre hearing her being called that. Even in college, you were House and Cuddy to each other. You can probably count on one hand the times you've called her Lisa or that she's called you Greg. It's just plain weird hanging out with her outside of work. Especially now that you and Allison are together.

Of course, she saw the whole thing and smiles at you smugly. She'll blackmail you for being human later, you are damned sure. This whole thing isn't even cool. But somehow, this is your new fate.

You know the work dynamic. Guess it's time to try to be a little more grown up about how the two of you interact outside of it. In another six weeks, she'll be Mrs. Davenport, making the whole thing even more bizarre. Lucas told you she decided to take his name. You figured her for a hyphen kinda gal, but apparently her mother had something to say about that and Cuddy, um _Lisa,_ pussied out. This mother of hers must really be a piece of work.

You're not sure you want to call her 'Davenport'. It's just not right. _Maybe Dr. Dee or the Doctor Formerly Known As…_ Yeah, that's got potential.

Allison hasn't told you what she's officially doing yet, mainly because you've hardly had time to say two words to one another. So far she's just gone with the 'Dr. House' thing with no complaints. Both her mother and yours make sure to call her that seemingly every five minutes. Must be some sort of right of passage thing women have to endure as a newlywed. However, you figure it's not going to work so well at work. You kinda like the idea of your name on her office but you aren't the complete man-ape you make yourself out to be. If she decides to stay a Cameron, it's fine by you. You'll call her Dr. House to tease her, but she'll get no fight from you to make it legal.

Even if she does change it, in many ways she'll always be Cameron to you.

How could she not be? Especially with that dark hair. It really does things to you at work. Your desk and she have a date and, as part of your honeymoon week, you have every intention of keeping that appointment.

You snuggle now with Allison poolside in your swim wear on a double wide lounge chair watching your nephews teach Rebecca's kids the Marco Polo game. Tommy spent about ten minutes trying to convince Cuddy that Rachel should play with them and that he was a great swimmer and wouldn't let her drown, but Cuddy was having none of it. You doubt he really cared about playing with Rachel.

It was interesting watching as he tried to work his charm on the older woman. It was all over when she started pulling off her shirt, revealing her bikini top. You know the boner boosting power those kinds of knockers have over 12-year-old boys. He was jumping in the pool in record time to hide it. Lucas was highly amused and took Rachel in himself to join the game with the kids and you assume to also give Tommy a little hell.

Foreman and Chase are late to the party, having gone back to the hospital after breakfast to check in on the patient. Now that the CDC has left, it is back with your team. As soon as they arrive, they get in their trunks and jump in the pool. The boys are, of course, ecstatic to see Uncle Robert. Forman struck up a conversation with Lucas and was surprisingly friendly to Rachel helping show her how to swim while the men talked about baseball.

It's strangely easy for you here, in your home, to show Allison affection in front of your co-workers. It's not that you have any desire to be discrete at work. Quite the opposite. You rather enjoy being lewd about it. But you generally work not to show your vulnerable 'human' side to very many people. Your whole life, that was inviting trouble. But now, in your home, with your wife, you enjoy a moment of being a normal person — a rare day of 'normal' not seeming like an overrated thing.

"I think Tommy's not gonna be able to get out of the pool until Cuddy puts a shirt back on," you tell your wife with amusement.

She snuggles against you a little. "I always felt bad for guys having to deal with random erections all the time. It doesn't even take breasts at their age. It's like penises have a mind of their own and just pop up whenever it's most inconvenient. Got a class speech? Don't wear loose pants or you might just salute the class the whole time."

You run a finger down her arm, noting how warm it is under the sun. The scent of her sunblock permeates your nostrils, reminding you of being at the beach. "You would feel bad for a guy for his dealing with a perfectly normal thing. I never gave a shit. If Little Greg felt the need to stand at attention when I was called to the front of the class, so be it. I enjoyed watching the ladies stare and giggle. If I could catch one of my female teachers staring a little too, all the better to tease them with later when I needed ammo to get out of trouble."

"Yeah, well not every guy has a nine-inch cock and a devil may care attitude about normal social constructs."

"Not my fault most dudes are too pathetic to turn all that 'caring' from the females in the room into an after school BJ. Of course, you are just the kind of girl that was probably helping to boost the confidence of those poor young lads."

You lower your hand to her knee and move it up her leg until she puts her hand down to block yours gently, setting the boundaries of your public display. "Oh yeah. I had them lined up outside my practice room just waiting to show them their boners were perfect just the way they were."

"God, there's a hot porn plot," you tease back with a nibble to her ear. "Maybe you and I are in the wrong business. Wanna start a porn production company? Bet it pays better."

"Keep on dreaming, House."

"Oh, I definitely will... House."

She turns to face you. "That's just weird. But I guess I'm a freak, cause I kinda liked it." Then she pecks a kiss to your smiling lips.

"So you're changing your name?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think so. I've decided on dropping my middle name and keeping Cameron, since that's what everyone at work calls me and our country is lame and only lets you have three names."

"Why not be one of the cool kids and hyphenate?"

"Meh. Not really interested in having a long ass last name. I thought that Dr. A. Cameron House," she puts her hand up in the air blocking out the words in her mind's eye, "would look good on my office door. Cuddy's going to love paying to change it again since they just got around to getting it updated with my name a couple of weeks ago," she says as an aside before explaining her logic. "I figure having it displayed like that will keep patients from getting confused when everyone on staff calls me Cameron. Whichever name patients end up using is fine by me." She returns a playful bite on your ear and teases "I still like the idea of ruining your reputation by making people talk about how nice Dr. House is."

"Well aside from that terrible plot twist, I like it, because I have plans for Dr. Cameron involving my desk. If there was no more Cameron my desk would be very sad. But I also have plans for Mrs. Dr. House and not having her around would be equally sad for her desk."

"Do I need to get a wig at some point, so I can be blonde or brunette for you on demand?"

"Yes."

She turns on her side and you roll on yours to face her and grab her ass, pulling her into you with a little growl. She giggles, "If you weren't so good at sex, I'm not sure I'd find any of this nearly as endearing."

Your eye catches someone approach over her shoulder, "Mom, at your 6 o'clock, heading straight for us," you say in a whisper.

"Must be your mother," she replies. "I know you don't care what we say in front of mine."

You pull back your head and look at her incredulously. "Look, some things are sacred. Like the code between mother and son to avoid the topic of sex so the son can pretend that his mother doesn't have it."

Your mother hears your last comment, not that you were trying to be quiet. In fact, you enjoy playing the game with her. "Oh, Greg. Of all people, I'd think you would be rather open minded about sex."

"Yeah, that's the problem." You say wide eyed and Allison snickers and your mother rolls her eyes in an all too familiar way.

"Allison, your mother and I just finished putting out the cake and James just finished putting out dinner. So we need you in the kitchen to kick things off."

"You didn't put thirty-one candles on it did you?" She says wearily as she rolls to the side and stands.

"No dear, I'm not my son. We bought number candles. Greg didn't get his sense of humor from my side." Your mother says with a wink and heads back inside.

Smiling at the joke, Allison grabs her pool dress from the back of a neighboring chair, slides it over her head and yells out to the people in the pool. "Grub's ready everyone!" Leading the way, she heads to the kitchen and snags a chip while she waits for the pool goers to dry off and gather inside.

It doesn't take long for everyone to gather. Wilson cuts through their chatter by pinging his wine glass with a fork. A few seconds later the room is quiet as Wilson speaks. "Thanks, everyone. As you all know, we're here to wish a happy 31st birthday to Allison. She's been my friend for a while, but in the last few months, I've gotten to see just how great she is. I'd long since given up that would Greg give her a chance. But since he wised up, I've had the opportunity to get to know her well.

"It's easy to see she's beautiful. I knew from working with her how smart she is and have seen first hand the depth of her compassion. But all the little things that really make up Allison the regular person, I'd only gotten a glimpse of as her work friend.

"She's funny and quick witted, a ruthless Monopoly player, a badass painter, knows how to snake a drain, can quote nearly every Star Trek movie, can't not sing along with Bohemian Rhapsody and she plays drums. She also loves my friend. And it's not the puppy love I always thought it was. It's a steady, well-tempered love. A love that makes him a little less of an ass. A love that makes him happy. I didn't know if he could be this happy again. For that, she's damn near a saint.

"Happy birthday Allison. May the next year hold nothing but joy and happiness with your work and your play, your new house, and your old House."

"God, you are such a sap," you push forward with an exaggerated eye roll. "This is her birthday, for Christ's sake, we had the wedding party this morning. I vote we start with the birthday spanking then go from there."

"You would, freak." Tommy mumbles earning a sharp elbow to the ribs and a "Shut it!" from Jon.

"Yeah, okay, you're right, I don't need or want any of you to help me with that." A few people chuckle. David gives you a dirty look, to which you return a wink. His face goes to his hand then, his head shaking as it does. Damn, Allison is so much like him in mannerisms. The more you observe him the more you realize just how much they act alike.

"Alright!" Allison announces, breaking up the groans and laughter that you've solicited. "Well… I want cake before dinner. My birthday, my rules. Light the candles ladies, and let's get this party going again." With a laugh, her mother lights the candles. Allison blows them out after pausing to make a wish. Hopefully it's a wish that involves the two of you — naked — because you can totally make sure that wish is granted.


	24. Happy Ever After

**Chapter 24: Happy Ever After**

"Gotta love not having to clean up after a big party at your own house." You say as you start the car and pull from the side of the road in front of your home, having parked there to avoid getting blocked in. Your combined family, which are the only people left from the party, wave goodbye to you and your still decorated car from the front door like the Clampetts of the Beverly Hillbillies.

"Yeah. Having both our mothers in town has some perks. I'm glad they seem to get along."

"Did you really think it would be a problem?"

"Not really. But I also never imagined they'd be spending their first day and night together in our home cleaning up our mess while we ran off for a mucky weekend."

"Mucky weekend? You've been watching too much of the BBC. And, unfortunately I'm not referring to the big black cock category on pornhub."

"Hey, the Brits have some cool colloquialisms. I'm simply expanding my vocabulary."

"So I got us a suite at Lambertville House. Complete with a king sized bed and jetted tub. I figure we can just order room service the whole weekend, screw, eat, bathe, screw, PlayStation, eat, screw, screw, eat, bathe, screw, PlayStation… you get the general gist."

"Yeah. I think so."

She's quiet for a moment, looking at the window as you drive. Your paranoia begins to get the better of you. Glancing her way, you run your right hand over her forearm. "You okay? I mean, this whole thing, I know it's not how you would have preferred it. It's not what you deserve."

She takes your hand. Giving it a squeeze she assures you. "I'm fine. More than fine. A little over a day ago, I thought I was going to be married just long enough to bury another husband. Today, I'm going on my honeymoon, wondering what you'll be like when you're 75." She looks over and you glance from the road just long enough for her to wink at you.

Her look calms you and a grin tugs at the sides of your mouth."Well, I suppose, I should let you know, when I do die, I want to be cremated. I've never liked the idea of being filled with formaldehyde. Seems like a stupid idea. Cremation is fast, efficient and logical. No idea what the end goal is in body pickling. You know how much I hate pickles. Actually, most of this is all outlined in my will."

"No argument from me on that. I suppose I should make a will and outline all that kind of stuff for myself — now that I have a reason to care."

"We can do it next week if you like. Then you'll be an adult _for-reals_." She laughs at your comment and agrees. Comfortable silence falls again.

After a minute or two pass, it ceases to be comfortable. At least for you. Maybe you should offer to reverse the whole thing and do it the right way… But you don't want that. You _want_ her tied to you for better or for worse. You _need_ her. The idea of being alone again is unbearable. Best not plant the seed at all. If she wants to do that, she can bring it up. Otherwise, on to the honeymoon.

At last you pull up to the front door of the hotel and are greeted by a valet — a sandy blond in his mid-twenties — and a thirty-something cubby black bellhop dude with a cart. You toss your keys to the valet and hand him a fifty. "Get it cleaned for me down at the carwash on Vine and there's another $50 in it for you, plus you can keep the change. We're not leaving the room until Tuesday morning, so just have her back by then. I know the mileage so no joyriding, not that you're likely to have a hard on to cruise with your homies in a Camry."

"Sure thing. It's about two miles from my apartment. Mind if I drive her home for the night and take care of it on the way in tomorrow?"

"Knock yourself out. Just don't rob a bank on the way."

He glances behind you and catches a glimpse of Allison helping the other man with the luggage, then looks back at you with a knowing smile. "Have fun, man. Congrats on the wedding. I'll take good care of your car."

"It's the wife's. So you'd bettered."

He nods and jumps in the driver's side just as the bell hop closes the trunk. A moment later the car is gone and you are checking in at the front desk. One lady from the morning shift is still there and remembers you from earlier, so it only takes a moment for her to get your keycard and on your way trailing behind Jeeves. He leads you to the elevators and makes small talk.

"I take it by the car decorations, you're starting your honeymoon?"

Allison smiles her Colgate-smile at him. "Yeah, Greg and I got married yesterday."

He returns her smile and slaps you on the back. "Well, congratulations! You've got the nicest room in the place. It's on the quiet side of the hotel, away from the pool and bar. Garden view. View peaceful and _private_." He waggles his brows twice and winks.

"Good, cause we don't plan on wearing clothes much." You interject with a wink and a grin. Allison, just backhands your arm and feigns embarrassment, though you doubt she's embarrassed at all. Jeeves snickers.

"That's the way it's supposed to work." He says lightheartedly as he steps off the elevator onto your floor and heads right to the far end of the hallway. "And this is your room." He says and you step forward and open the door for him to take in your things. He goes in the room, propping the door open to make it easier for him to get the cart in and out. Allison tries to walk past you into the room, but you grab her arm to prevent her walking over the threshold.

"You are _not_ about to do walk into our honeymoon suit?"

"Yeah… Why... " She gives you a look and you shake your head and give her your best 'duh' look. "Oh, I guess I just forgot about that part because of everything. You sure you're fine to carry me? I don't want you broken."

"You act like I haven't done it before. You weigh next to nothing."

"I guess I never think about it because I'm normally asleep or horny beyond real thought when you do it."

She has you there. You yell into the room "Hey! Jeeves. Help a crippled brotha out and spot me." You toss him your cane. "I have to carry my hot wife into the room and on the off chance the five extra pounds she adds causes me to lose balance, I'll need you to make sure we don't break anything."

"Sure thing." He says as he steps back out of the room and gets behind you.

"Okay, Mrs. Dr. House. Let's get you to bed." You say with a wink and pull her into an embrace. As soon as her arms are around your neck, you bend slightly and she hops up enough for you to get one arm under her knees and the other stays put behind her back. You slowly side step through the door, using the frame as a support against your back as your right leg supports your trailing left leg. Once past the door and a shallow entrance way, you can turn and move more normally and limp forward with her the remainder of the way through the main room of the suite and into the bedroom, finally tossing her onto the bed.

She squeals then laughs deeply and you want to take her, but you need to kick out Jeeves. Turning, you reach into your pocket and grab your wallet and fish out a fifty for him. A few extra bucks and the staff should bend over backward to pamper you both the entire stay. You hand it to him, noting how he tries to control his reaction, but his sharp intake of breath and eyes tell you that your plan has already worked. "Thanks, now scram."

He hands you back your cane with a wide smile. "You got it sir. You just let me know if you need _anything_ and I'll make sure you get it. You don't have to leave the room, just call the desk, ask for me" he points to his name tag, but you don't bother looking, "and I'll take care of whatever." With that statement, he lets himself out of the room. You turn and look back at your wife propped up on her elbows, legs crossed, fully clothed in jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes on the king sized bed.

"You have way too many clothes on and, as much as I want to jump on top of you and get to the naked part, we both went shopping today and I think we should exchange gifts first."

She smiles and gets out of the bed. "I'll go put yours on. Why don't you get mine while I'm in the bathroom changing and wait for me on the bed?"

"I approve of this plan."

She moves quickly to her suitcase, unzips it and grabs a bag from the top of the contents then darts off into the bathroom. You hear her muffled voice yell through the door. "Holy shit, babe, this tub is huge. You're gonna love it."

Hell yes you are, that's why you picked this place, after all.

You open your case and pull out the bag of goodies, then dig in her case and find Junior. Making your way back to the bed, you wonder just how you should reveal your gift to her. You wonder what her reaction will be after all the joking. Will she be as excited as you? Is she joking about wanting it?

 _Na, she wants it._ You're sure of that.

You decide to get it set up then you'll hide it under the covers. Yelling out to her "Don't come out until I tell you. There's some assembly required here."

"'Kay. I'm going to be a few minutes anyway. I'm doing my makeup and hair too."

Fuck yes. She's going to be so fucking hot! You can't wait for your sexy, super girly girlfriend, no wait… your girly _wife_ , to bend you over and take you. It doesn't take long before everything is unpackaged and you find the right ring to attach Junior to the sexy red and black corset harness. "Damn, it's big." You mumble to yourself as you tug it to make sure it will stay put. Setting it aside, you grab the lube, trash the packaging and set it on the night stand.

Next you strip down to your dark blue silk boxers, chuckling at the memory of making Wilson help you underwear shop today. Even he had to agree they brought out the color of your eyes. She loves you in blue.

By now you are sporting a semi. Glancing over at the lube, you debate pre-lubing. Na. You'll leave that for her this time around. No need to rush this. There's a slider on the light switch that allows you to dim the lights. The curtains are thick and pulled closed so only a small amount of daylight can get past. It's the perfect amount of mood lighting.

"I'm ready when you are," you call out.

"I'm almost ready. Just another minute, babe."

She's calling you babe a lot lately. Guess you're at the pet name stage. Damn, your palms are sweating… Wiping them on the bed you wonder, _What's up with that?_ Guess it's nerves. You are about to go 'all the way' with her for the first time. With anyone for that matter. You'd never seriously thought you'd do this. Sure, you've perused some interesting pegging porn with a man being taken by a babe or two but you never wanted something like this from a hooker. None of your other girlfriends were into reciprocation of anal play.

Allison is a freak in the sheets. Far more so than you'd expected. This is a side of her you'll always agree with one hundred percent.

She walks into the room and your breath catches. Her hair is ironed into large ringlets. Her makeup is darker than normal — kinda slutty in fact. And, oh God, how you do _love_ slutty. Her eyeliner is thick and turns up on the outer edges of her eyes in a way that makes her look cat like. Her blue/green eyes dance between the strokes. She has the dark red lipstick from your wedding on. Your new favorite. It will look fucking perfect on your dick.

And her present. Fucking sinful.

Great minds think alike. She knows your love for her in red lace. This strip of lace, which probably cost an obscene about of money, could barely qualify as real clothing. The money spent on it isn't the only obscenity, you find as she turns a full one eighty for you to see her round ass exposed before she finally stands a-frame before you. It's a combination garter/thong with a slit right down the middle for full access without needing to remove a single thread of the provocative garment.

Strapped to it are some black thigh-highs that invite your eyes to travel down her long toned legs to the platform high heels you insisted that she bring. She's going to need that extra six inches of height if she's going to bend you over the bed while she stands.

Damn, you are so hard right now your ears are ringing.

Slowly you gaze back up her body. She's not bothered with a bra; her nipples salute you. _Good girl_. You have business to get down too. No need to over wrap the present. And the cherry on top? Her beautiful hair, all curled up like brunette Shirley Temple gone bad. A very naughty girl indeed.

"I see you like your gift so much you've been rendered mute." She teases and you merely nod as you meet her eyes with a hungry look. "What'd you get me?"

"Close your eyes," you instruct softly.

She obeys and you resist the urge to stroke a finger along the slit of the fabric where her pubic hair peeks out slightly, taunting you. You pull out the harness and dildo and begin to fasten it to her. The design allows you to do this without her having to step through the straps. Her breathing begins to change. Her eyes are still welded shut. Her hands find your shoulders as she opens her legs a little more for you to work.

You know she knows by now. But she's loving the game. Her smell is enticing. Your fingers graze over her mound as you tighten and check the straps. The full weight of it is on her now and you finding yourself face to face with her dick. Her hands slide back as you sit up more straight. "Open your eyes."

She looks down and shudders with anticipation.

"I want to give you my last virginity for our first time as man and wife."

"Fuck, Greg, baby. This is… So. Incredibly. Hot." She looks down and turns her hips as she admires her present. Her eyes glance over to the mirror above the dresser and she smirks at the reflection. "And it matches my outfit. So bonus mind-reading-married-couple points." She winks going from sultry to playful on a dime.

"Yeah. Great minds." You take the cock in your hand stroking it. "Be gentle with me." Her hands tangle in your hair as you lean forward and give her a show taking the tip of your tongue and swirling it around the tip of the dildo. Stopping, you look up to her. "It doesn't taste as good without your pussy juice all over it."

"Maybe you should fuck me for a few minutes. Then rub your wet dick against my dick and lick my juice off of it. Then I'll get you ready to be fucked. I can't wait to fuck your tight hole with my big lady-cock."

"Wow. That's so wrong, but damn it's hot." Raising your ass you pull your boxers down then kick them down your legs to the floor. Allison climbs on top of you wedging her new member between your stomachs as she sits on yours. You guide it into her then grab her ass with both hands as she rides you.

You can feel the fabric of her split thong graze your dick. She's wet as ever. Her head leans down and her lips find yours. Her kiss is slow. Her hunger in check. She knows you both are going to need to pace this encounter. Slowing her hips she raises. You miss her heat surrounding you immediately. Pulling on her with a whimper, you protest the removal of your cock. She reaches down and pulls your penis between you and her.

Two cocks now rest between your bodies. She takes both in her hand and thrusts hers against yours. It's a strange but pleasant sensation and your hand joins hers, helping to squeeze your dicks together for a more gratifying friction.

Eyes meet again. God she's turned on. So are you. You imagine your eyes, like hers must be black with need. "Suck me now, Greg. Lick the pussy juice off my prick."

She stands and doesn't have to ask twice. Leaning down you take half the dildo in your mouth and suck it. It turns you on more than you ever imagined. "Fuck, baby." Her hands play in your hair, "You like sucking me like that?"

You hum to the affirmative and she pushes into your mouth further. It almost gags you and, for a split second, you want to push her back. It's not like she can feel it in your throat. But your mind calms the instinct. As much as women are more tactile, they still enjoy visuals.

Her fingers are on your head, pulling as she begins to slowly fuck your mouth. "Shit, babe, that is sexy as fuck."

You hand is stroking your own member in time with her thrusts and the amount of precum dripping from you is shocking. Sucking her cock while you fuck yourself is maybe the most hedonistic thing you've ever done and the night is barely beginning. She tugs a bit at your hair and you find yourself groaning at the lost as your mouth pulls away.

"Don't come in your hand. I want you to come while I'm inside your ass."

Speechless again, you pull her to you and bite her stomach with a growl.

"Get up and turn around. On your hands and knees facing away from me."

You do as you are told and hear the pop of a bottle cap opening. A hand rubs your left ass cheek. A thumb slides to your crack, pulling it open as a cool liquid is squirted just above your anus. You feel the lube bottle hit the bed near your right leg as a finger swirls the liquid around your entrance. Relaxing, you push back a little, encouraging her to insert one finger.

It always feels so fucking dirty and oh, so, fucking, good as her finger pulls and pushes, preparing you for what's to come next. After a moment she extracts her digit, picks up the lube and squirts more on her fingers before slipping two inside you.

"Fuck, Allison… It's so… just fuck…" Apparently, words are not something you're able to master at this point. Her middle finger finds your prostate then and a warm pulse radiates through your core. Her left-hand wraps around you and takes your cock, giving it a few strokes causing you to groan and almost lose the strength to hold yourself up off the bed.

You can feel her cock rub against your left thigh as she adds another finger. She releases yours. She knows you well. Much more double stimulation and you'll end things before they begin. Despite knowing and agreeing your body protests and you find a whimper escapes with the loss of contact.

She consoles you. "Patience, babe. We have all day."

A few strokes later and her fingers leave you once more. You are completely relaxed now and hear the lube pop open. Glancing back reveals her pouring it over the dildo and stroking it. She looks strangely mesmerized as she watches her hand glide over the strapped on cock. It must be an interesting sensation for her to fuck herself in this way. Her brain getting all the visuals and despite the lack of genital contact, her mind is filling in the blanks and giving her pleasure from it nonetheless. Almost like a ghost limb.

Finally, you find words, though you barely recognize your own voice. "You gonna wack off on my ass or fuck it?"

Her head clears a bit as she looks back at your open ass before her. "Sorry, babe. It's just more fun than I thought it would be."

She steps forward as you turn your head back to the bed. A second later you feel her rub her dick between your crack. "Can you lower yourself just a bit. Even with the heels, you're still a little too tall for me."

Spreading your legs slowly, you find a lowered position that doesn't put too much strain on your bad leg. The full length of her cock strokes against your entrance. "That's perfect." The tip lines up and barely pushes in.

 _Damn it feels ten times wider than the plug._

You know better, but it doesn't stop your body from breaking out in a sweat. "You're doing fine," comes soft encouragement. "The first coupla inches is the worst part. You'll feel like you might die for a second, but once you push past that, it's incredibly pleasurable. And that's coming from someone without a prostate. I imagine…" grabbing you by the hips, she pushes. You're not sure about this at all. It's fucking huge and your anus is stretching and maybe…

"Oh fucking goddamn, baby that's fucking good!"

 _Was that me?_

Yeah.

 _Damn. It was._

And it is… so fucking…

"I imagine it's mind blowing for someone who has one." She finishes her sentence as she pushes fully inside you. She gives you a moment to adjust then pulls out nearly all the way. Her cock puts a delicious friction against your prostate and the flesh surrounding it.

"Jesus! Allison… that's really fucking… Oh yeah, God, yeah!"

Allison continues fucking you with long slow strokes adding lube ever couple thrusts for the first minute. She pulls out all the way and as the tip passes back through your anus you nearly come. You don't even want to think about how fucked up and dirty it feels having _this_ sensation putting you on the edge of orgasm. Thankfully, before your brain can manage to go there, she pushes back inside you. "Ah… Gawd…" is the best you can manage to express your delight.

Her hands cling to your hips, using them for leverage to fuck you faster now. Your right-hand finds your cock and begins to stroke it as she fucks you. It's not going to take much more. "Allison. Baby. I'm gonna come."

She pounds you even harder as your cock explodes. Your body is consumed with pleasure as you reach the crest of a wave emanating from your prostate. She stops, pushing all the way inside you once more and holding it. "I love you." She tells you as she leans over your body, placing a kiss in the middle of your back.

Panting is your only response. Your arms start to shake from holding yourself up and you collapse forward, her falling with you, landing her whole weight on your back. Her cock still inside you.

A moment passes before she pushes up and withdrawals. "Oh, shit…" You hiss and figure it's a damned appropriate thing to say given the sensation. "That felt like I might come again."

"So I made it good for you? It didn't hurt too much? I was worried because I can't really feel what's going on. I mean, doing that was my first time too."

You hadn't thought of it that way, but in a way, you both lost a virginity together. You remember the first time you fully penetrated your first lover. You worried if you were pleasing more than hurting as you pressed into her again and again, your own pleasure making it difficult to control yourself.

Rolling over, come smears all over and you tease your wife reassuringly, "Um. I'm pretty sure the evidence speaks for itself. Besides, feeling it just makes you have to fight harder to care if you are hurting the other person. It's as much a curse as a blessing if you care about pleasing your partner."

"I guess I didn't think of it that way."

Glancing over, you see her lying on her back beside you, staring up at the ceiling. Her nipples hard — pebbled by the cool air. A hand is draped over her stomach, the dildo lying just below. You want to get her off, but you also want to sleep so badly. That orgasm took everything out of you.

"I never figured you for a strap-one-on kinda girl, unless you count that dream I had about you and Thirteen" She turns her head and raises an eyebrow at your joke, "but lucky for me you're a fucking freak. I love how easy it is to fuck you in the kinkiest ways imaginable. I love we shared this experience."

She looks over at you and smiles. "I'm right there with you. I never thought I'd _ever_ do something like this. Honestly, until we started experimenting I guess I never seriously considered it at all, except for maybe that one dream I had about Thirteen." She smirks and you stick out your tongue in response, "but I really get off on getting you off that way."

With that comment she leans over and plants a kiss on your shoulder and gets out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom to clean up. You'll get her back later. For now, a little cat nap seems like the most amazing idea in the world.

Stopping at the door of the bath, she pauses, her hand on the frame. It glides up and down it; she's obviously considering something carefully. Just when you are about to get nervous, her head turns just slightly.

She tells you over her shoulder. "I'm happy and relieved you made it out. And, for what it's worth, I hope you don't regret this. I don't." Then she pats the frame once more and heads in, closing the door behind her, leaving you to ponder the truth of her words. You don't regret it and, because it's Allison, you can only assume her words are true because she's terminally honest and you know she loves you.

Contented with her statement, you begin to drift off to sleep, not bothering to turn the right direction or to get under the sheets. Just before sleep takes you, you decide the best idea you've had in years was giving this a chance and finally taking a risk for happy ever after. Allison Cameron House is the stuff happy endings are made of.

 _~The End of the Beginning._

* * *

 _AN: Thanks for hanging in there with me! I hope everyone has enjoyed the ride and you'll take the opportunity to drop me a note. I'll be off working away at the next installment and may need the moral support._

 _Another thanks to atavares! We make it! Boy, was it ever a journey this time around. But here we are, a year and two months later. Damn. This one took a long time. But we didn't give up. :) You are the bestest!_

 _And to everyone one who's tagged along, thank you so much for supporting my habit. It's rather cool to have people reading my work._

 _Keep an eye out for my next story while you wait for me to write book three of this saga. Hopefully, it won't take a year, but if it does, I hope you'll all still read it._


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